Magicks of the Arcane
by Eilyfe
Summary: Danger, of course; adventure, hopefully; ancient magic, most assuredly; hot women showing him the way of the world, in his dreams at least, undoubtedly. Harry's not satisfied with his life, never has been, and the Goblet of Fire gave him the perfect excuse to change it. GoF, good Albus, multiple pairings - no harem though. Harry, modeled after a younger Jirayja.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and I make absolutely no money with this FF.

This story takes place during Harry's fourth year and will go on until the dark tosser is obliterated. Have fun and enjoy.

This chapter was beta'd by Spikeisdabest, who helped tremendously to make this enjoyable for you! I also revised it (as I'm planning to do with all chapters sooner or later, and added about 2000 words to it) Some things will be better explained now, the dialogues should be smoother and the descriptions more detailed. Hopefully it's adequate now, as many people had initially been turned off by the first chapter and I tried my best to rectify this mistake.

* * *

**Magicks of the Arcane**

_Written by Eilyfe (the magnificent ^_^)_

_Beta'd by Spikeisdabest_

Chapter I

* * *

**Prologue**

He held his staff in both hands and, muttering incantations under his breath, walked toward the incoming wizards. Green chips of ice glowed with ethereal power; his words, although soft-spoken, boomed over the premise.

With each step he took, his voice became louder and rumbled over the fields; the first seeds of doubt crept into the minds of his assailants, filling them with anxiety. The gem on top of his staff vibrated with power and he was bathed in blue light as small bolts of lightning flickered around it, anticipating their final release. He saw his enemies lift their wands, prepared to curse him until nothing but ashes remained, ready to end his life at a moment's notice.

_But he was not without power_.

The incantations used were tedious, the erratic movement of his staff exhausting, but in end, he hoped, they would be worth it. Taking command over mother earth, subduing the willful elements – it couldn't be done with two syllable spells. And, right now as he faced so many adversaries, he sent a small prayer to his deceased mentor, thanking the man for teaching him the ancient lore of arcane magicks.

He noticed their wand tips glowing in sickly red and green colors, saw their expression; a grotesque mixture of hate and rage. Bolts of light flew past him – _Avada Kedavra_, bane of the magical world and harbinger of death. How many had died a senseless death, hearing those two words?

He remembered it all too well, the shocked look of his master after three of them had hit him simultaneously. The pictures were forever etched into his mind, branded and shackled by the fury he had felt back then. Now, however, after seeing the men who were responsible for all the misery, the fury resurfaced, elevated to new heights.

Viciously he jabbed his staff and unleashed the wrath of nature. "_Vâs Viquês!_"

His roar echoed over the clearing and he felt the magic run through his veins, vibrating under his skin, waiting to be used and strengthened beyond belief by his rage. Thick vines broke through the earth's surface and entangled them, leading to imminent death by strangulation.

No mercy would be shown tonight; and tomorrow, _tomorrow_ a blood red sun would rise.

A wide arc with his staff unleashed a wall of fire so hot, so potent that it left molten rock on the ground it had touched. The roaring flames consumed them, leaving nothing but charred corpses behind.

And his ears were deaf to the wailing cries of anguish.

Spells flung by and he turned to his right, noticing a group of wizards near the stream.

_Fools_, he thought and his staff was, once again, in motion – drowning them in raging torrents of water. A sound that he knew all too well reached his ears and with no time to spare, he jumped away, barely evading the sword that hit the ground beside him. He wasted no time and jerked his dagger out of its sheath, stabbing it right through the sword wielder's skull. Blood sprayed on his face, but he paid it no heed and whirled around, violently shattering the jaw of a man that had crept up behind him.

He sidestepped another bout of arrows and green light, cursing under his breath. "_Erêstes Dû Nefat_," he whispered and watched in satisfaction as rocks broke loose from the very earth and rose, shielding him from the deathly tendrils of magic that reached out to him.

Only one group remained, a part of it wielding swords and spears, the rest brandishing their wands in a desperate attempt to break his protections. They advanced quickly, he surmised, and he knew that he had to act fast, lest his head be cloven clean off of his shoulders.

He pulled up his last reserves – filling himself to the brim with magic – and bashed the end of his staff on the ground. White arcs of lightning raced over to them, shocking and incinerating every single one of these poor fools who had put too much stock in the crazed words of a raving madman.

_The dead are mute_, he thought and shook his head as the condemning silence bathed the forest in tragedy. Now, as the drums of war slowly became silent and his thirst for the blood of his mentor's assassins had been sated, a sadness beyond words settled in.

_Bloodshed should always be the last response_, the old man had said. Yet, madness closed in on the world and he, for one, had no answer to it; no remedy for the blood that would be spilled in the years to come.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 3. November 1994**

Up in the magnificent tower that housed the Gryffindor common room, Harry woke with a start. He sweated profusely and his hair clung to his skull like a second skin. _That_, was definitely – _definitely_ – not a Voldemort induced dream as far as he could tell. He took a quick look around and sighed in relief. The red curtains of his dorm mate's beds were still closed and they hadn't woken.

"_Tempus_," he whispered and eyed the result incredulous. It was three-thirty in the morning; a time when normal people slept, but – for him at least – normal was a condition seldom experienced.

He tried to find a connection between what had happened in the last few days and his strange dream, but came up empty handed. It had been a rough week for him – spited by his classmates, deserted by his friends and hated by the foreign schools. Still, nothing came to mind that could have been the cause for a dream like that and, somehow, this realization irritated him.

He reached over to the small table next to his bed, searching for his old and worn glasses. It was doubtful that sleep would embrace him again tonight as the peaceful grasp of Morpheus was far away. Then again, it was also possible that he had just read too much books on mythology since his arrival at Hogwarts.

"_Scourgify_," he uttered and grimaced.

The spell wasn't pleasant and even with the least amount of power that he could potentially put into it, it still scrubbed his skin raw. Nonetheless, the sweat had vanished and he got up, avoiding the creaky floorboard a few inches to his right. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed softly. Only two months into his forth term and already nightly horrors plagued him – most of them concerning Voldemort, the beast who murdered his parents, the abomination who had spread terror throughout magical Britain.

His hands clenched into fists, but when he noticed that the clock on his desk was shaking, he quickly banished all thought of Voldemort out of his mind. There was a place and time for everything. For now, however, he had to concentrate on the more pressing matters concerning his life; the Tri-wizard tournament – yet another stone the fates had put in his way, probably to amuse themselves.

It really shouldn't have surprised him, when the fabled ancient artifact, the Goblet of Fire, had spewed out his name. But it had, by Merlin, it had and every attempt to declare is innocence had been met with incredulous stares and outright refusal to believe him. Even Hermione, ever faithful Hermione, had abandoned him, leaving him alone to face the scorn of three schools. Ron had broken their bond of friendship the second Harry had left Dumbledore's side.

It had hurt, it still hurt and it would, in all probability, hurt for a long time to come.

More than he could have ever imagined and, to suddenly lose the friends he had thought would always stand beside him regardless of their adversaries, it left him with a strange mixture of feelings, ranging from sadness to righteous anger.

_But_, no more.

It had been three days already. For three pathetic days he had wallowed in self-pity, feeling bad for himself with the always permanent question of _why_ deeply etched into his mind. There was only so much a person his age could take and he had the uncomfortable feeling, that if he didn't draw the line soon, his life would be forfeit.

He had three weeks until the first task. A truly short amount of time to immerse himself in magic – body, mind, and soul – but he would manage somehow. He always did, after all.

_But_, how does one defeat a dragon? Charlie had mentioned that he would spend some time at Hogwarts and it wasn't hard to connect the dots, deducing that at least one task would involve the overgrown lizards.

Harry didn't know which task it would be, but the fact that they were using dragons at all, was... _concerning_.

"_Lenis Planipes_," he mumbled and wove his wand through the air, before tapping it on both of his shoes once.

"_Fieri Inolens_," he continued and with a simple flick and another tap – this time on his nose – vanished every trace of his scent.

He simply didn't dare to get complacent, knowing that his father's cloak couldn't always protect him. Wizards like _Snape_ and Professor Moody would notice his scent or the noise of his shoes, the second he got close to them.

* * *

For hours he sat in the kitchens, contemplating his next move, pondering the possibilities and consequences while enjoying the tea Hogwarts' elves provided. The delectable brew definitely made it easier to think clearly.

_And_, he decided as he looked out of the window, seeing the first rays of sunshine breaking through the clouds, _a clear mind was what he needed right now_.

He went over his memories, analyzing his encounters with Tom Riddle, the headmaster and, in general, with magic itself. The tingling he felt every time he cast a spell, the burning, but pleasant sensation every time that magic left his wand – even after three years it still felt like a novelty, entrancing him with its beauty.

It was easy, after everything that had happened, to formulate a personal theory about magic, about the make up of it. His own experiences taught him that magical power split itself equally into three parts; knowledge, raw magic, and creativity.

Thus it made sense for Voldemort to fear the venerable headmaster of Hogwarts, because even if Riddle had larger reserves than Dumbledore, his knowledge and creativity was simply no match for a man that had already lived for over a century, well on his way to surviving his second one.

_Albus Dumbledore will outlive us all_, he thought and snorted amused.

He shook his head. Damned it, he was letting his mind wander again and, funnily enough, it always wandered into the most obscure places.

Well, the solution seemed clear to him, even if it was much more difficult than it sounded on paper; to amass knowledge, to practice what he learned and to let the creative part of his mind play with his new found magicks until he would be able to brave any situation.

With a smile, he thanked the elves and rose from his chair, intent on walking to the library.

His plan was rather simple and while Hermione probably would have scoffed at it – if she knew about it, at least – he firmly believed that it was its simplicity that made it viable. He never was one for elaborate plots, after all.

* * *

The library of Hogwarts was enormous and while he had been here on numerous occasions, he had never taken the time to really appreciate just how much knowledge was stacked between those old walls of stone.

He walked through the part that held copious amounts of knowledge concerning Charms and was amazed. Books that looked freshly printed, bound essays of especially promising students, magazines from national and international sources, old untitled volumes and tomes – all intermingled and neatly shelved.

Why had he never noticed this incredible place?

He wandered aimlessly through the library as if he was seeing it for the first time. Books about Potions, Transfiguration tomes holding exercises that defied belief, sections on Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Divination, Defensive Magic, Offensive Magic, Astronomy, Herbology, Magical History, Muggle History.

There simply was no end to it and he seriously considered to take the worn book on magical Etiquette out of its shelf. Somehow, he knew that there were many _faux-pas_ that he had made in his life.

When he reached his destination, the well lit section for Care of Magical Creatures, he sent an appreciative look at the restricted part of the library that – to his knowledge – held the truly dangerous magic.

He intensified his search for anything useful about dragons. What magicks were able to kill, or subdue, such a mythical beast? He had a good handle on offensive spells, but he seriously doubted that a simple _Stupefy_ would even bother the scaled monster.

_No_, he thought and shook his head. He needed another method to defend himself against the scorching flames that could spell his early demise.

Transfiguration, maybe? Were there any spells of use that would enable him to survive? What would happen once he escaped the roaring fire? Chains to hold the dragon down were a given, but a normal _Incarcerous_ would bounce off of the magic resistant scales, that much he knew.

He found his lack of knowledge in those subjects disturbing. It was sad that the only thing he could rely on was that he had rather large reserves – something he had felt for the first time when he managed to produce a _Patronus_ strong enough to drive away hundreds of Dementors.

But, he didn't want to rely only on his raw magic. That – and a fair bit of studying the dark arts – was the path that Voldemort had taken. No, his power was probably the only thing he didn't have to train at the moment. Knowledge, however, _that_ was something he could improve on.

And, like the Chinese always said, it was all about balance.

In three week's time, he would face whatever the fates deemed appropriate and until then he would do everything humanly possible to prepare himself.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 11. November 1994**

A week had gone by and the Potter heir remained friendless. His only solace, the only current comfort he had in the place he called home, were the halls and corridors of Hogwarts, tingling with magic whenever he walked through them.

He hadn't been idle during the week, devoting hours upon hours toward certain fields of magic, always strong in his belief that they would help him to conquer his foe. The mornings were spent to read up on dragons and the evenings were used to practice every spell he found that could possibly heighten his chances.

The result of his hard work was a rough plan and while he knew that no plan survived contact with the enemy, he had some good ideas to expand and adapt it should the need arise.

"Again," he grunted and stood up. His breath came in shallow gasps and his heart hammered against his ribcage. "_Agumenti Scutum Tholus!_"

He flicked his wand in intricate patterns, ending with a large circle above his head, and cascades of water erupted from its tip, forming a tight dome around him. _That_, would be his first line of defense against the fire. It was a spell he had found in a book about magical shields, aptly named _The Journeyman's guide Vol. 8_. Whoever this Edmund Clitherow – the author of the book – was, he decided to thank him should the opportunity ever arise.

The drain on his reserves was insane and as the seconds trickled by, he noticed how he rapidly approached his limit. He looked over to the transfigured hourglass and groaned.

_Only twenty seconds_.

Well, he wouldn't give up that easily. "_I beseech thee magick, grant me thy power. I ask for thee, mother earth, nurturing us all,_" he stated the incantation he had found in a book about earthly magic.

"_Radix Catena Fugere Ist Terra_," his magically amplified voice boomed through the room as he finished his wand motions.

The result came instantly; large roots broke through the stone foundation of Hogwarts, entangling a desk that he had crudely transfigured into something resembling a dragon earlier.

_With enough imagination it looks like a dragon_, he thought derisively and took in the chaos he had wrought in the room. He would have to repair the damage later.

Only two spells remained, but exhaustion had already brought him to his knees. It was his deepest wish, his most valued hope at the moment, that these kind of magicks became easier with use, or else he would finish his challenge unconscious.

He jabbed his wand toward a pebble on the floor, drops of sweat traling over his forehead. "_Mutare permagnus Excubitor_," he grunted. It sure was curious how people always took the ability to stand upright for granted.

The pebble grew in size, becoming larger and larger, and with each new inch he felt the magic leaving his body, bringing life to a crude stone soldier that looked remarkably like one of the terracotta guards he had read about. Well, without the details of course.

Only one spell was left, one measly spell. Yet he had to fight tooth and nails against his instincts, obliterating any thoughts of self-preservation.

Once more, his wand rose and danced in circular movements. "_Animatus Bellatorius_," he ground out between clenched teeth, feeling the rest of his magic leave him, completely wiping out his reserves.

And the last thing he saw, before unconsciousness claimed him and he succumbed to the incoming darkness, was his transfigured warrior charging the wooden desk with a rough stony sword.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 12. November 1994**

_The question if I have overexerted myself is definitely pointless now_, he thought as he opened his eyes and was greeted with the usual sterile white color that accompanied each and every visit to the hospital wing.

Important was, however, how long he had been out of it. If he had slept for more than two days, or – Merlin forbid – for more than a week... the consequences could be dire.

"I see you're awake, Mr. Potter," a voice to his right said and he focused on the plump medi-witch that had just exited her office and stepped into the wing, carrying various charts in her hand.

"I had hoped that you would stay out of my wing for some months at least," she said. "Clearly, I was mistaken."

She chattered away, not even giving him any room to argue. "This damned tournament will make it impossible for me to work," she exclaimed.

_Yep, definitely irritated_, he thought. But who could fault her? Hell, he shared her sentiment over the tournament.

"How long-"

"You were brought in yesterday," Madam Pomfrey said and turned to him, stopping in her spell casting. "I wonder if I really want to what you did to yourself," she uttered angrily. "The symptoms, at least, were clear. Extreme magical fatigue."

"And, uh, what does that mean?" he asked.

"You drained your magic to near Squib level!" she nearly screamed at him, her face a mixture of outrage and fear. "Even a further first year spell could have rendered you without magic."

That fit, the analytical part of his mind commented while the rest of him paled rapidly. He felt relieved though, when he still felt the magic in his body, the tingly sensation running through his veins. Well, everything had worked out alright in the end and now he just had to escape from the wing. It was unfortunate, however, that he seemed to be ridiculously easy to read.

"Don't even think about-"

"Harry, I see that you have finally woken," another voice came from the entrance of the hospital wing and he looked up. There, standing in all his glory, was the headmaster with his silvery beard safely tucked into his belt.

The intervention, he decided, couldn't have come at a better moment.

Madam Pomfrey was about to list off all his maladies, but Dumbledore only patted her shoulder and smiled serenely. "Splendid care as always, my dear. Could you give us a moment, Poppy?"

It was phrased like a question, it even sounded like a question, but each of them knew that it was, in fact, an order. The medi-witch huffed and looked like she would refuse, but relented in the end, leaving the wing to give them their privacy.

"Professor?" Harry asked anxiously.

Dumbledore's penetrating eyes lingered on him for minutes and neither of them uttered a word. "I hope you know, Harry, just how close you came to leave the mortal world yesterday," he said at last.

"I was dying?"

_Well, doesn't that put things in perspective_, he thought and finally understood why Madam Pomfrey had been so distraught. But how? He would have never thought that magical exhaustion could have fatal repercussions.

"The contract with the Goblet is a magical bond, my boy. Without your magic to bind itself to it and to uphold it, the contract would have unknown and, probably, violent reactions," Dumbledore explained and the intensity of his eyes only increased. "Leading you directly to death's door and beyond. An ending which is exactly the opposite of what you hoped to achieve, I believe."

The severity of the situation became clear and Harry, who had just begun to regain his color, paled again. Whoever had found him, he would have to thank that person later.

"Who found me?" he asked.

"Why, Harry, I did," Dumbledore said and smiled jovially at him. The oppressive and tense atmosphere vanished instantly. "The castle alerted me that an incredible amount of magic was released in one of the unused classrooms."

Hogwarts was sentient? He wasn't sure if that was mentioned somewhere in _Hogwarts a History_, but he seriously doubted it.

"Imagine my surprise, Harry," Dumbledore continued. "When I found you unconscious on the floor, guarded by a most vicious fellow."

A most vicious fellow? What- oh, _oh_! His transfiguration, had it really lasted that long?

"I'm so-" Harry tried to apologize, but the headmaster waved it away.

"I have to say, it has been a long time since someone challenged me to an open duel in my own school," he said. "It was most refreshing."

Harry wondered whether Dumbledore wanted to shame him with each further word and, if that was indeed his aim, then he had to congratulate the man. He had definitely managed it.

"Harry," he said, breaking him out of his thoughts. The tension was back again. "I have a pretty good guess what kind of magic you used and, more importantly, why you used it," Dumbledore continued. "But, I implore you; be very careful in the future. There is a reason, a good one at that, why such magicks are only taught once you have left school and entered the appropriate guild."

"But, sir! I need them," Harry defended himself. "Without them I won't have a chance in the tournament."

He became frantic with worry. If the headmaster forbade him to use those spells, he had to restart his research and time simply wouldn't allow that.

"Calm yourself, my boy," the headmaster said. "I have no intention of prohibiting your new found knowledge. All I ask of you is to consider how you train with it. To put such incredibly advanced spells into one chain might prove, at least for the moment, a bit too much for you."

"How then? How can I master them before the dragon kills me?" he asked heatedly. If Dumbledore minded, however, he didn't show it. The man looked intrigued when Harry mentioned dragons and started to chuckle.

"Master them?" he asked and chortled. "I fear it will take quite some years until you have accomplished such a feat. If you only want to learn them, however, it might be prudent to split the chain."

"Split?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore nodded. "When I was a wee lad, barely older than you are now, I fought with the very same problem. In the end, I only used one spell each hour to accustom my magic to the incredible drain."

"But I haven't got that kind of time!" Harry exclaimed.

The headmaster remained unperturbed and pulled a watch out of his robes, briefly looking at it. "You will manage it before the tournament starts, I am sure," he said. "Now, I am afraid that I have to cut this conversation short. There are some documents that still need to be read. Paperwork is, after all, the bane of each and every headmaster."

Dumbledore walked toward the large double doors, but turned around again, once he reached them. "And, please remember that in a week's time, the weighing of the wands will take place."

Harry blinked, but the headmaster had already vanished.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 20. November 1994**

The last week had held a plethora of new information for him, both, good and bad. For the former, he had to credit the headmaster; it was indeed infinitely easier to cast one difficult spell each hour and he had done so for the last seven days. The drain became notably less and his speed in casting them increased as well. The downside, however, was that he now only had three days left to learn how to chain them efficiently.

Savoring a delicious chicken sandwich and enjoying a hot mug of cacao, he sat, once again, in Hogwarts' kitchens. The Daily Prophet was propped open on the table, a photo of himself staring at him.

Well, he wouldn't go as far as saying that he hated the infernal woman who had concluded their interview, but after only seconds of speaking with her, a strong dislike had formed.

_Teary eyes indeed_, he thought and snorted. Oh, she was definitely right when she wrote that he feared the tournament – at least on some level – but only a fool would not. Despite what her poisonous pen wrote, however, his fear didn't stem from any of the other three champions. In all honesty, he hadn't even had any contact with them.

Fleur was a beautiful woman, probably able to tell many amusing stories and a person he considered to be very interesting, but her comment about the _leetle boy_ definitely hadn't got her into his good books.

Krum was an international Quidditch prodigy and while he might have considered a duel in the air between them interesting once, he simply didn't have the patience to deal with the dark stranger that grunted more than he spoke.

Cedric and every other Hufflepuff was of the firm belief that he cheated, so he didn't even waste a thought on them.

No, he was alone this time, but – by Morgana's sagging tits – he would survive. He always did somehow.

With a sigh he stood up, thanked the elves again for their services and left the kitchen toward his _usual_ room. It was time to chain the spells that would save his life.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 22. November 1994**

Harry stood in front of the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the headmaster's office and regarded it with contempt and irritation. He really should have asked someone for the password, but no, he – Harry James Potter – believed that it was only a matter of guessing all kinds of candy. Now that all of his attempts had failed, however, he stood in the hallways of Hogwarts, looking for all intent and purpose like an idiot with not means to ascend toward Dumbledore's office.

"Harry?" someone asked to his right and he turned around, coming face to face with the headmaster.

_Finally_, he thought.

"Professor, I wondered if you have time?" he asked.

For a long moment, Dumbledore only looked at him, but in the end nodded and led Harry up to his office. Both of them sat down in comfy armchairs with only the table standing between them. He noticed that Fawkes was curiously absent.

"What can I do for you, Harry?" the older man asked, staring at him over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. "There were no complications with your spells, I hope."

"No, Sir. Everything went well and your advice really helped. Thank you," Harry mumbled, not nearly as confident as he had felt minutes ago.

"Then, something else must ail you. Why else would you visit an old man like me in his dusty chambers," the headmaster stroked his beard thoughtfully and Harry nearly saw the man's brain working.

He was clearly trying to figure out what Harry wanted from him, his pondering likely the reason why he always seemed to be unflappable; Dumbledore simply had more time to work things out and was therefore less surprised as he connected the dots sooner than anyone else.

"Answers can only be given if a question is asked," he said at last, looking at him with a benign smile that beckoned Harry to tell him of his problems.

"Is there a way for me to leave the castle today?" Harry asked brazenly and Dumbledore, who seemed taken aback by his request, arched an eyebrow. "I mean, I had an idea," Harry tried to explain, "But I need to visit Madame Malkins for it."

The grandfather clock at the wall ticked away and Harry nearly jumped out of the chair when it opened and a miniature version of Fawkes flew out of it, squawking once and then combusted in fiery sparks.

He heard Dumbledore chuckle and turned his attention back to him. "A rather ingenious enchantment, wouldn't you say? Professor Flitwick gifted it to me many years ago; much to the embarrassment of Fawkes," he explained. "Now, back to your original question. It is possible, of course, to leave Hogwarts' grounds if the student has explained his reasoning sufficiently to his head of house, or to the headmaster. Your explanation, Harry, left much to be desired, but as I have to visit her myself I can make an exception this once; so, if you wish to accompany an old man like me, then be my guest."

_That went surprisingly well_, he thought and watched the headmaster to see if there were any _buts _coming. Supervision had to be expected, he didn't really mind it; and it made the whole thing much easier, now that he could finish it today.

"Yes, Sir," Harry answered excited. He jumped up when Dumbledore, clothed in a lime green robe, rose from his own chair and tapped a quill with his wand.

"I trust you know how Portkeys work? Mr. Weasley told me that he took you and his family to the world cup with one."

"Good to see that they don't always have to be smelly boots," Harry answered cheekily and gripped the lower half of the quill tightly.

His past experience with a Portkey hadn't been the best and he did his best to prepare himself for the sudden influx of colors that was sure to come. And indeed, when Dumbledore touched the upper half of the quill, both vanished from the office and were flung into a kaleidoscope of light; blue, green, red, orange, purple, yellow, the whole spectrum it seemed.

Dumbledore steadied him with a hearty laugh, when Harry was about to land on his butt. "It seems like you still need some experience," he said and smiled at him. "That was, by far, one of the worst exits I've seen in _decades_."

Something very, _very_ rude was on his mind when the laughter continued, but he was still reeling from the travel and suppressed his urge to insult the man.

"Anyway, let us not dawdle, Harry. Our fabulous and favorite fashion mistress is waiting."

They walked through Diagon Alley, garnering the attention of many witches and wizards who had business there. He felt that all of the looks they were getting were too much, by far too much, but the headmaster seemed unperturbed. With the easy grace that only a person who had lived through such things for years possessed, Dumbledore walked through the magical street; the pebbles of the road crunching under his feet.

The duo passed by the Apothecary and Ollivanders and reached Madam Malkins' shop, where they were greeted by the chime of a doorbell and the friendly face of the seamstress. Contrary to the professor, she wore fashionable green robes; much like her profession dictated.

In a corner of the shop he saw a boy, he would have guessed him to be only a few years older than himself, who was bent over a working bench and intensely studied a parchment; new clothing designs perhaps.

"Albus, Mr. Potter, what can I do for you?" Madam Malkins asked and busied herself with cleaning the counter top.

"Ramona, my dear. It has been far too long," Dumbledore greeted her friendly and his twinkling eyes surveyed the room. "Why, I feel like I have not seen you in years. And you have even taken on an apprentice. Dervan Filleth, Hufflepuff of '87 if memory serves right."

"You visited me last week, Albus," Madam Malkins retorted exasperatedly. "And Dervan has worked here for two years already."

Dumbledore frowned for a moment, then his expression cleared and he smiled again. "Alas, the adage of old age," he explained and chuckled, laying his hands gently on Harry's shoulders. "Anyway, I am here for my order and Mr. Potter has some different business I am not privy to."

Madam Malkins tinkling laughter filled the shop. "Business is always welcome and your robes are finished; don't take me for a fool though, Albus. You will outlive us all," she said and, unknowingly, stating Harry's very own thoughts on the matter.

He watched Madam Malkins, or _Ramona_, walking behind the counter, pulling out a tiny package; not much larger than the grubby package of the sorcerer's stone had been. "There you go," she said and handed the package over to Dumbledore, who accepted it graciously. "The price comes to a total of three-hundred Galleons like we have discussed it."

Dumbledore looked like a man wretched in eternal suffering, when he forked out the large amount of money. "The high price for a fashionable appearance," he sighed.

Harry ruthlessly obliterated the snort that tried to escape him, looking over to Madam Malkins who fought the very same problem.

A fashionable appearance indeed. He had no doubt that Dumbledore's new robes would be just as garish as the ones he currently wore. When the headmaster had secured the package in his robes, Madam Malkins turned to him. "Now, Mr. Potter, what do you need?"

"Can you tailor an armor for tomorrow evening?" he asked and saw the apprentice in the background perk up. He had no idea of how long it would need to design something like an armor in the Muggle world; then again, this was Diagon Alley, and magic seemed to have ways to make the impossible, possible.

Madam Malkins regarded him with a searching look. "That will cost you a pretty Knut, Mr. Potter. Armors aren't that difficult to make, but if you want it by tomorrow the process will take much of the night. Do you have the specifics in mind?"

"Well, not really, but I already got the skin I'd like. Can you do it with basilisk hide?" he asked and Dumbledore, who had been leaning against the wall until then, stepped forward to listen into the conversation. The headmaster knew very well from where he would procure the skin.

"Basilisk hide?" Madam Malkins asked incredulous. "I can do that, of course. I pride myself on my abilities as a seamstress after all," she replied a bit flustered. "The manufacturing of such a difficult skin isn't easy though, certainly not as easy as dragon- or fire lizard skin; it will definitely cost a bit more."

"Where did you come across a basilisk?" Dervan asked, but Harry saw Madam Malkins shaking her head and the apprentice became silent. It wasn't polite to ask a customer about his sources.

"Never mind then," Dervan said and went back to his bench, once again hunching over books and parchments.

"If you can get me the skin today, Mr. Potter, then I'll have your armor ready by tomorrow."

He pulled a small box out of his robes and enlarged it with a tap of his wand. Good thing that he had already prepared everything before he went to ask the headmaster. "This should be enough skin," he said.

"That's plenty enough," Madam Malkins assured him and did some quick calculations in a small note book. "If you leave me the left overs after the armor is finished, I will account for it and the price will lessen considerably. Is there anything else you need?"

Harry nodded to her first statement and considered the second one. Did he need anything else?

"A cloak," he answered at last.

"A cloak?" Madam Malkins asked, as if she was waiting for something.

"A cloak," Harry replied; he was a bit annoyed by the barely hidden laughter of his headmaster.

Madam Malkins decided to help him out of his misery and asked again, this time with more specifics. "A cloak made out of what, Mr. Potter? There are many materials, from wool to Acromantula silk, the range to choose from his rather large."

"Well, um, Acromantula silk then. And Hogwarts crest on the backside," Harry explained. Somehow he had thought this would be easier. "And Gryffindor colors if possible," he added.

Madam Malkins took some quick measurements and wrote some numbers into another small note book. "No problem. I will have it delivered alongside your armor tomorrow; with owl post, of course," she said. "The price however... the total will be somewhere between five-hundred and a thousand galleons if I detract the amount of basilisk hide I'll buy from you. That's a steep price, especially for a student."

Harry sucked in a sharp breath. That was, indeed, a lot of money. Still, he needed the armor and even if the cloak was only to cater to his vanity, he had already gotten used to the image in his mind; basilisk armor, Gryffindor cloak – total success.

"That's a lot of money," he sighed, finally understanding Dumbledore's expression, when the man had to pay his own bill. He pulled out a Gringotts waiver and signed it. "Here, five hundred Galleons now, and the rest when the armor and cloak are delivered."

"Very well," Madam Malkins said and accepted the waiver.

Dumbledore, in the meanwhile, pocketed his small watch and turned back to the other occupants of the room. "If the business is concluded, Ramona, Harry, then I suggest that we leave now; any longer and our absence will disgruntle Professor McGonagall."

The two of them bade Madam Malkins farewell and returned to the castle via Portkey, where both sat down and a long silence ensued.

"That was an interesting trip, don't you agree, Harry?" Dumbledore said and looked at him with a curious expression. "I was not aware that you had revisited the Chamber of Secrets."

"I got the idea last week, when I was still in the hospital wing. The hardest part was to escape Madam Pomfrey," he replied. "I had to read up on spells to skin an animal; didn't wanted to accidentally damage the basilisk."

"Definitely a good idea," Dumbledore said and nodded. "Such precious resources have to be used carefully. I have, of course, no objections toward your business. Nonetheless, I have to ask you, to salvage the head and bring it to Professor Snape. The ingredients he could extract from it would further his studies tremendously."

Well, he didn't really like the idea to gift _Snape_ of all people such a valuable thing. Then again, it made the old man happy and Snape had tried to safe him in his first year. That didn't really balance out all of the man's other actions, but what the hell; his armor was already in production, so the bat of the dungeons couldn't get too greedy anyway.

"Sure, I can do it today if you want," Harry replied.

"That would be appreciated, Harry. I am sure that if Fawkes has no objections, he could help you in your foray into the chamber."

The fiery avian agreed with a joyful chirp and a melodious tune that made Harry fell very comfortable.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 24. November 1994**

Harry had expected it, but still was rather peeved when Snape hadn't been thankful in the least for the valuable present; especially after Harry revealed that he had already rendered every other part of the body for personal use. Some of the innocent first years had been deeply disturbed by the curses that left his lips after leaving the dungeons. The bat, it seemed, couldn't be thankful for once in his damned life.

Nonetheless, such thoughts were rather redundant at the moment. What did he care about Snape? He had much bigger fish to fry right now.

He sat alone in the champions' tent and waited for his turn to face a dragon. It had been his usual luck, really, when he had picked the most vicious and dangerous of the lot. He simply didn't have it in him anymore to complain. Although he had to admit that while his face was set in a mask of determination, he secretly felt very smug.

Neither Cedric, nor Fleur, and not even the Bulgarian super talent Viktor had anything on him in the matter of appearance. Madam Malkins had delivered and, by the fates, she delivered well.

The armor was a work of art; well, he couldn't really call it a full body armor. It was more of an assortment of various armor pieces – the chest piece was the largest part, secured with enchanted leather straps to his normal attire, then came the shoulder plates, the arm and leg guards and, finally, the boots.

It definitely made him look imposing, even if he took his rather small height into consideration. The cloak, too, was a fine piece of work that seemed to fit naturally with the basilisk armor. Merlin, he even had the damned sword of Gryffindor clasped to his belt. Not that he really intended to use it, but he was making a statement. Dumbledore really hadn't wanted to part with the founder's artifact and it became a contest of wills which he won in the end.

Or maybe Dumbledore had let him win, who knew. This thought though wasn't helpful in his quest to build some self-confidence and courage; and those were the things he desperately needed right now.

Madam Malkin had included a letter in his delivery, explaining the possibilities, but also the limitations of his new armor. It put things in perspective and he had chided himself for even thinking that he was invincible with his new form of protection. The basilisk hide was spell resistant, true, but after the animal died, the only thing that still made it so was the imbued magic. Which meant, he had found out after hours of looking it up, that the armor would protect him against most minor curses and jinxes, maybe even against some middle powered ones, but that he was far from invincible. To someone who wanted to really hurt him, it would only prove to be a minor nuisance.

Still, every bit of protection helped.

"And now, the last champion! Harry James Potter, who will face one of the most dangerous breeds our world has to offer, the Hungarian Horntail!"

He steeled his nerves and walked out of the tent, coming face to face with the mythical creature that could very easily spell his early demise.

And, he found the experience to be utterly terrifying.

Vicious yellow eyes stared into his green emeralds, the putrid smell of sulfur assaulted his nose and heat, incredible heat, before the dragon had even spewed the first flame made his senses go haywire.

It was mighty creature. How easy would it be for it, to smash him into a wall, leaving nothing but specks of blood behind? The thought of facing such a being made him shiver in fright, but he had prepared for it.

"_By Merlin_," he whispered. "I hope I have prepared enough."

For everything, all of his training, his new found spells, his basilisk armor, the headmaster's confidence in him; all of it looked suddenly inconsequential in the presence of the dragon.

"Let us see how Mr. Potter stacks up against the other champions who completed their tasks with a mixture of power, trickery and subtle charms work," Bagman shouted and the wild crowed became deafening.

Against his instincts, Harry forced himself to look up into the stands, to look into the rows of people he didn't know. It was risky to take his attention away from the Horntail for even a second, but he had to know.

And what he saw enraged him beyond anything he had ever witnessed. Cold fury ran through his veins and his magic buzzed in response. There was doubt, so much doubt; total and complete resignation that Harry Potter would find his end that day.

"_Sheep_," he spat bitterly. "Have I not proven time and time again that I don't die that easily?"

There must have been a _Sonorus_ charm on the whole area, because many of the people looked away and some appeared to feel guilty. It only made his anger boil once more.

Harry looked back to the dragon when it roared mightily and the booming sound reverberated through the whole arena. A bout of flames shot into the air, but he didn't back away.

For, even if they didn't knew it, the ignorance of the people made him find his resolve. It was high time to let his Gryffindor side out to play. He had killed a basilisk at twelve, how hard could a dragon be at fourteen?

_Time to prove them wrong_, he thought and started to assess the field and what he had to work with. Rocks, many rocks, was his conclusion and he was quite happy with it. It would definitely increase his probability of surviving the whole madness.

Either way, he would complete his task, or end up as a delicious meal for the angry mother dragon.

Harry brandished his wand and walked toward the dragon, burying every bit of fear he felt beneath a large pile of courage and a fair bit of insanity.

"Is Potter fighting the dragon head on? It looks like it, ladies and gentlemen. Insanity!" The loud voice of Ludo Bagman was amplified by an additional _Sonorus_ charm it seemed, but Harry tried to blend him out as best as he could. He really didn't need any distractions right now.

His wand moved at the same time as the dragon started to inhale. "_Agumenti Scutum Tholus_," he uttered and torrents of water sprung forth from it, building a watery dome around him.

He wouldn't become barbecue just yet, he decided and every bit of power he could safely spare without hurting his chances went into the spell. Flames crashed against his shield, clashing in an eternal battle between fire and water.

And still he could hear that idiot, Bagman, shouting. "Incredible! Professor Flitwick just informed me that Potter's using an advanced water shield, learned during the later stages of being a journeyman in defensive magic; what a feat to behold!"

The crowd roared again, but he couldn't care less. They had abandoned him and made him out to be a liar. There was no need to impress these people, he only did what he had to in order to stay alive.

"_I beseech thee, magick, grant me thy-_"

His chant was interrupted when he saw the dragon's tail move toward him with a high velocity. He responded with a swish of his wand and sent a large boulder in its way, momentarily halting the advance.

_Close, too close_, he thought as dust settled over the arena and debris flew around. He had hoped that the Horntail would give him enough time for the whole incantation so he could forgo the whole transfiguration business, but it seemed like he was in dire need of a guardian.

"Potter has managed to block the tail, but it looks like it interrupted his chant. What will he do now?" Bagman asked the excited crowd.

And once again, waves of fire battered his shield. Yet, it held.

He jabbed his wand toward a moderately sized boulder. "_Mutara Permagnus Excubitor,_" he muttered and watched in satisfaction as the boulder transformed into his faithful stone warrior – it wasn't even as crude as it had been before and instead had some level of detail.

Well, it was only right, he surmised. One of the Transfiguration tomes he had read informed him that not the power, but the practice mattered when trying to achieve a higher level of detail.

"_Animatus Bellatorius!_" And with another wave of his wand, the warrior stood up; shield and sword in hand to defend its master.

Again, the torrent of flames tried to overcome his barrier and this time he could definitely feel the heat. His shield would probably hold against one last attack, but he simply didn't have the reserves to recast it if he wanted to use his final charm.

Bagman had just said something else completely asinine, but he ignored him. This was his last shot, or he would be toast. It was not a time for contemplation, but a time for action.

"_I beseech thee, magick, grant me thy power..._"

His dome of water broke down as soon as the stream of fire ended, but he had no time to bother with it, or to even contemplate the obvious evidence of his own mortality. Right now, he stared death in the face and somehow he felt rather reluctant to leave the mortal coil.

"_... I ask for thee..._" he grunted out, barely witnessing the horned tail crashing into his guardian and obliterating its shield. It pushed the warrior back several feet.

But still he was standing.

"_... mother earth, nurturing us all._"

A mighty growl escaped the dragon and the tail came down once more, but his guardian jumped into its path, shattering completely under the force of it. Debris flew and Harry pointed his wand toward the Horntail.

His warrior had done its duty.

He was finally ready.

"_Radix Catena Fugere Est Terra!_"

The magic took hold and a violent roar escaped him; it could be heard throughout the whole arena and, amplified by the _Sonorus_ charm, probably even in Hogwarts. Every bit of power he could afford without succumbing to unconsciousness lingered in this single spell.

Gigantic roots broke through the surface, binding the wide opened maw together. The dragon's tail was entangled and shackled to the ground, its wings completely bound to the earth it stood on and, when the two last roots – as big as trees – wove around the dragon's body, the beast became completely immobile.

Silence descended onto the arena and no one quite knew what to say. Harry Potter had, once again, shown that one should never bet against him, no matter the odds.

He looked toward the judge's boy and saw Dumbledore smiling. That smile alone was probably worth more than any kind of recognition he could get from his peers. And he used the term _peers_ lightly.

"Unbelievable, simply unbelievable," Bagman shouted. "In all my years I've never seen something like this! Potter didn't distract the dragon to steal his egg, but completely immobilized it."

Approximately five-hundred people cheered and thundered in applause as he made his way to the golden egg, trying to calm his fast beating heart and evening out his breath. He took it an, without acknowledging the crowd of sheep, he moved toward the medical tent were a frantic Madam Pomfrey would be waiting.

Of that he had no doubt.

"Mr. Potter, are you alright?" and there it was, the expected voice of Madam Pomfrey.

"I'm fine," he answered and was promptly ignored.

"Let that be my concern," she replied and wove her wand around. Colors appeared, seemingly signifying some sort of result and each time she saw them, Madam Pomfrey nodded sagely.

He used the time to look around and spied an uninjured looking Viktor Krum, who's eyes had narrowed to slits. Harry's expression didn't show it, of course, as that would be quite impolite, but – by Merlin – it felt incredible to know that he showed the arrogant Bulgarian just whom exactly he was dealing with.

Harry effing Potter, slayer of mystical beasts, vanquisher of dark lords and all around nice guy.

Fleur and Cedric were resting on makeshift hospital beds and spotted several burns. For them, at least, he felt sorry. Harry remembered all too well how insanely hot the dragon's fire had been. And, if he had felt the intense heat under his dome of water, just how painful would it feel to be burned by it?

It was a rather gruesome image.

"Acceptable, Mr. Potter. Rest for the day and you will be right as rain tomorrow," the medi-witch broke him out of his thoughts. "Now, go out and see how many points the judges will award you."

When he reached the arena, he saw the judges rising from their seats, training their wands toward the sky. A silvery ten shot out of Dumbledore's wand tip, quickly followed by another ten from Bagman. The crowed cheered once again, when Madam Maxine, headmistress of Beauxbatons, shot a nine into the air. Crouch followed up immediately with a ten, which enjoyed the company of Karkaroff's seven shortly afterward. The headmaster of Durmstrang, he decided, looked distinctively disgruntled.

Forty-six points. _Not too shabby_, he thought, considering that he didn't even do it for the points, but for pure survival.

* * *

AN: That's the first chapter. I hope you enjoyed it. Read, review and if you have any questions, ask them in the comments, or write me a pm. I'll do my best to answer them.

New spells used:

_Lenis Planipes - _Silencing charm (Feet)

_Fieri Inolens - _Vanishing the scent of a person

_Animatus Bellatorius - _Animates something to act like a warrior/guardian

_Mutare Permagnus Excubitor - _Transforms something into a warrior/guardian

_Agumenti Scutum Tholus - _Erects a dome of water around the caster (The water originates from wand tip)

_I beseech thee, magick, grant me thy power. I ask for thee, mother earth, nurturing us all. / __Radix Catena Fugere Ist Terra - Roots breaking out of the earth, chaining something/someone._


	2. Chapter 2

The second chapter of MotA, edited, revised and beta'd. Approximately 500 words have been added to make the dialogues smoother. Enjoy!

* * *

**Magicks of the Arcane**

Chapter II

* * *

**Hogwarts - 24. November 1994**

"Harry!" Hermione's familiar voice echoed through Hogwarts' halls as he made his way toward the room that he used to practice. Far, far away from people who wanted to wish him well, or tried to congratulate him. Insufferable sycophants, the lot of them. And, suddenly, he had a completely new understanding of Snape's sneer and what it meant.

Then again, he didn't even want to entertain the thought of something akin to kinship with the bat.

As far as he was concerned, the whole situation was exhausting. He sighed and turned around to the witch he once had considered a dear friend. "What is it, Hermione?"

"You did really well, Harry," she answered hesitantly. Hermione was bright, he knew, and she had instantly recognized his clipped tone. It wasn't necessarily cold, just indifferent and the girl lost her brilliant smile when she realized it. "I can't believe they had you fighting dragons," Hermione started again, this time more confident. "_By Merlin_, dragons of all things! Adults should have more common sense than that."

He remained silent during her rant, finding it somewhat amusing even though the hypocrisy of mentioning common sense wasn't lost on him. He could even understand why most wizards struggled with it, when magic regularly made feats that defied all logic possible. But Hermione, who was raised by Muggles and learned the values of a society that didn't have the luxury of magic, had no excuse. None at all.

"- and those spells you used, have you found them in the restricted section? Did someone teach you, Harry?"

His eyes trailed off and he looked at the many suits of armor lining the walls – none as nice as his basilisk armor, for sure, but still not too shabby. _Definitely useful_, he thought. It was highly possible, after all, that someday he might again had to fight inside the very castle he called home.

"Harry?" she asked again and he turned his gaze toward her. "Have you been listening at all?"

His eyes narrowed and he was sure that a person as perceptible as Hermione understood his silent answer perfectly.

"Are you still angry?"

Harry's expression didn't change, but inwardly he seethed, not believing the sheer gall of her question. Did she really think that he wouldn't be angry? That he wouldn't feel resentment after she had scolded him in front of every Gryffindor, telling him how irresponsible it was to enter himself in the tournament?

Maybe she wasn't as perceptive as he had thought her to be.

"Angry," Harry laughed hollowly, still not really believing that she actually had to ask. "What did you expect?" he asked her. "You abandoned me after three years of friendship, Hermione. We've flown on Hippogriffs, traveled through time and fought against impossible odds; for what?"

"For what indeed," he muttered under his breath, ignoring her stricken look.

"That you, Hermione, the one person I thought knew me well enough, abandoned me at the drop of a hat," Harry trailed off. He took no pleasure in her tears, but remorse was equally absent. "i just don't know what to think about that. From Ron I expected it somehow, but from you?"

"But-"

He raised his hand and cut off her response, a sad and forlorn smile tugging at his lips. "I think it's better if we walk separate ways for now."

And he didn't look back as he walked away.

* * *

His encounter with Hermione made him consider Dumbledore's words. The older man was constantly preaching about the concept of forgiveness and, on an intellectual basis, he knew that she wasn't a bad person; he knew that it was only one bad decision on her part that created the rift between them. The question he had to ask himself was simple, yet difficult in its complexity.

Should he forgive and forget? Should he forgive, but never forget? Or should he mend the rift at all?

The rational part of his mind told him to choose one of the former options – it would be the mature course of action and maturity was, after all, expected from the boy-who-lived – his heart, however, was still bitter and just seeing her had made it ache in betrayal.

His thoughts were interrupted when he stopped in front of the gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office. Torches lit the corridor, producing flickering shadows and the menacing statue, he felt, was a stark contrast to the jovial Dumbledore. This time, he had no intention of rattling off all kinds of sweets and used a different approach to gain swift entrance.

"Please, can you ask the headmaster if he has time?" he asked, cautiously looking around.

Even by wizarding standards, talking to a statue was viewed as ludicrous and insane. Then again, who were wizards to complain? The concept of magic was insanity at its best, madness at its worst and he was reasonably sure that stranger, even more bizarre things than a sentient sculpture existed.

His patience wasn't tested, however, and the gargoyle leaped aside, revealing the staircase that led to Dumbledore's _dusty chambers_, as the man referred to them. For two weeks he had fought with himself, debated whether it was prudent to bring his query to the headmaster. It had been two weeks with only one question plaguing his mind and nothing, absolutely nothing he did, provided an answer.

The wooden door – made from one of the many Scottish oaks that grew around Hogwarts – opened as soon as he reached it. A passing glance revealed it to be decorated with magical runes and symbols.

And one step over the threshold was, once again, all it took for him to enter an emotional state between awe and amazement. Beautiful silver trinkets – obviously crafted with great care – emitted soft puffs of smoke; to what end, only the headmaster knew. A globe of glass containing violet fire hovered above a white satin cushion, the words _Flame of Ankou_ inscribed beneath it.

He continued with his observation and saw a large tapestry on the wall to his left. It's loosely hanging threats and worn state made it obvious that it was quite old. He took a closer look and saw that, despite its apparent age, it was an incredibly accurate world map. Most countries were covered in a soft green glow, but he also saw party of the world tinted in orange and red color.

"A most wonderful artifact, wouldn't you agree, Harry?" Dumbledore asked cheerfully and broke him out of his reverie.

Harry quickly turned around to apologize for ignoring the man, but was thwarted. "Sir, I-"

"Do not worry, my boy. You are not in trouble," Dumbledore reassured him. "After all, witches and wizards with decades of seniority on you have been enthralled by the artifacts presented in this very office. Sadly, I cannot take credit for all of them. It is a continuous effort from each and every headmaster that ever walked these hallowed halls," he explained.

Harry smiled in relief and chuckled when he saw the headmaster getting scolded like a school boy by various portraits with female inhabitants. They obviously took great offense to his words and made it clear how they felt about their exclusion.

"And headmistresses, of course. Please, pardon my error," Dumbledore amended quickly.

It made sense that each of them had left something of value to his or her successor, Harry surmised and vowed to look for rituals of exorcism. How much history had been lost due to the boring lessons of a ghost? His budding plans to exorcise Cuthbert Binns had to be abandoned though, unfortunate as it was. The headmaster wouldn't be pleased if one of his teachers suddenly vanished.

"Can you guess what the map does?" Dumbledore asked and walked over to the large tapestry.

Harry took his time and gave it a thorough look, his fingers gently tracing over the various glowing countries. If Dumbledore minded him touching the surely priceless artifact, he didn't show it.

"The colors show something," Harry stated. "Something that most of these countries have in common. But what?"

His hand hovered above an orange glowing country; Korea if memory served him right, and he searched his mind for the names that belonged to the places painted in red. Venezuela Guyana, Zimbabwe, Botswana; he slowly connected the dots and theories ran through his head, each of them becoming more horrifying by the minute.

"_War_," he whispered and his voice held a frightened quality to it. Dumbledore's eyes, which were unusually dull, were all the confirmation he needed.

"Indeed," Dumbledore answered and smiled sadly. "The map, however, as magnificent and omniscient it appears, has only a rudimentary understanding of the world. Otherwise, I fear, all of it would be painted red."

"All of it?" Harry asked, not really able to believe it.

"I am speaking in terms of politics, Harry," Dumbledore explained. "It is a constant battle that spins around the globe, affecting us all on varying levels. It is a battle too subtle, too fickle to be grasped in its entirety by us mere humans, lest of all a tapestry, as powerful as it might be. Though this is a conversation for another time, when you have become as old as me and philosophy is your bread and butter."

Harry listened intently during the explanation and he sighed in relief. England and Scottland were still pulsing in a green glow; symbolizing peace.

He was startled though, when Dumbledore's wrinkled hands came to rest on his shoulders. "Do not let the colors hoodwink you, Harry. Because as easy as they on our soul, they are but an illusion."

Harry looked at the older man, questions lingering in his eyes, and Dumbledore resumed his explanation. "The struggle for power is present in every nook, every cranny of our world. Look at Zimbabwe and Botswana; these countries are only colored red, because they are in open warfare with each other."

"Doesn't that mean the map works?" Harry asked confused.

"Oh, it does. I think you will be surprised to hear, however, that even during Voldemort's first reign of terror, Britain was bathed in this soothing green color."

Harry's eyes widened and the headmaster nodded pensively.

"You have to understand that as terrible as Tom's bid for power was, it consisted mainly of bigoted politics, augment by his followers," Dumbledore said. "Only towards the very end, when his army was filled with dark creatures and fanatical zealots alike – its power equaling that of the ministry – did the color change from green to orange."

"Orange?"

"Orange, as it didn't judge Voldemort's reign of terror as a war, but a revolution – such is the nature of the map. As I said, the interpretation of its colors is of a rather philosophical nature and I find myself cursing the tapestry as often as I admire it, laying my own worries to rest whenever I spy the green that stretches over the most parts of the map."

When the headmaster ended his explanation, he saw the effect it had had on Harry. His fists were clenched hard enough to draw blood and his expression was grim. Even Dumbledore wasn't sure if he identified every emotion behind these green eyes correctly.

He steered the teenager away from the tapestry and toward his desk, silently conjuring a chair for the troubled youth; two lazy flicks of his wand later and a roaring fire lit up the fireplace to his right.

"Give me your hand, please, Harry," Dumbledore said and Harry, who still digested the information he learned seconds ago, gave him his injured hand without question. "This is a very simple healing spell," he explained, knowing that it was sometimes better to take a teenagers mind off of their problem. "It needs neither great precision, nor immense power; in return it will only heal small superficial wound though – bruises, paper cuts and the likes."

Harry fixed his eyes on Dumbledore's wand, but the spell only required a half-circle clockwise motion.

"_Corium Consanesco_," Dumbledore whispered.

The incantation was simply enough, the wand movement not too complex, but he heard the power vibrating in Dumbledore's voice, suddenly feeling very insignificant in the presence of such a giant. It was a great and gentle power to those he called friends, but a vicious and terrible one to those that made him their enemy.

And, for the first time, Harry wasn't hearing it through others, but witnessed it with his own eyes instead – _Dumbledore was the only one Voldemort has ever feared_. Curious though, that it was a simple healing spell that made him recognize that fact beyond any doubt.

Maybe he had become a bit more attuned with magic and sensed it easier now, who knew?

They spent the next minutes in silence, unknown to both, each contemplating the other. Dumbledore had discreetly ordered tea a while ago and Harry thanked the demure house elf after the steaming cup was set in front of him.

Dumbledore returned his gaze to him, looking cheery but curious. "Now, Harry. Everything else aside, what led you to my office this far into the evening?"

"I have a question, Sir. It bothered me for weeks, but nothing I did, nothing I researched... the answer simply eludes me," Harry replied and the headmaster noticed the awfully familiar speech pattern.

Dumbledore's lips quirked upward in amusement when he identified it as his own. "And what is it, that plagues your mind? Especially when you should be enjoying all the frivolities youth offers?"

"The spells I used during the task," Harry started to explain. "They're powerful, even more so than any other spell I've ever used before."

"Does it frighten you?" Dumbledore asked and took a sip from his steaming cup, looking thoughtfully.

And it was a rather interesting question, Harry felt. Did the power of those spells frighten him? In the hands of someone like Malfoy, they would be downright terrifying, but the magic itself?

_Another philosophical question_, he thought. Could magic even be terrifying, or was the intention of the caster that made it so frightening?

"To some extent," Harry answered after thinking it through. "But, I'm more curious about them."

"Curious? What exactly are you asking me, Harry?" Dumbledore probed further.

Harry frowned and tried to think of an explanation that would adequately describe his worries. "They're incredibly strong and easy to access. Not even put in the restricted section, you know? Why don't more people use them?"

His thoughts were mainly focused on Malfoy during the questions. Why hadn't the ferret attacked him with those spells? He was thankful, of course, that Malfoy didn't seem to know how to wield such power, but it struck him as odd.

He expected many reactions from the wizened headmaster, but booming laughter wasn't one of them. It wasn't necessarily insecurity that reared its head, but annoyance at the man for laughing about his concerns; for laughing about the very thing that had plagued Harry for weeks.

Dumbledore noticed Harry's change in demeanor and regained his composure. Still, the mirth visibly threatened to resurface. "Please, don't feel insulted, Harry," he said. "That was never my intention. Your question is valid, but I think you will be as amused as I am before too long. Let me give you the answer you searched so diligently for."

"Tell me, my boy, what do you know about Hogwarts' library?" Dumbledore asked and poured himself another cup of tea, giving Harry some time to think about his question.

Harry though was mesmerized by the brown liquid leaving the kettle, wondering if it contained as much sugar as the headmaster's usual behavior suggested. "I only started to use it a month ago," he said and, noticing Dumbledore's frown added, "Homework excluded, of course. So, not much."

"Most people measure our library by school standards and even then it is vastly superior to many others," Dumbledore told him with pride. Even a blind man could see that the headmaster lived for the education of others.

"What most people don't know, however," Dumbledore said mysteriously and gave him a conspiratorial wink. "Our library is, in fact, the greatest accumulation of magical books in all of Europe, Asia, and eve America. Only the mythical halls in Alexandria can boast about a greater assortment of magical scripts and tomes."

"It has been far too long since I last taught," Dumbledore muttered under his breath, watching Harry's face cycle through various emotions; disbelief and awe as the dominant ones. The joy of seeing young people discover new things was as refreshing as it had been decades ago.

"Hogwarts' prides itself on being the premier school for magic, Harry. Did you think our reputation is unwarranted?" Dumbledore asked and shook his head gently. "No, for those who know where to look for clues, it was always clear. The founders hadn't built the school for students that were only here for seven years, but for students in a life long pursuit of magical knowledge. Age, tests, examinations; all of those came later."

"But, but the library isn't even that big," Harry exclaimed confounded.

Dumbledore chuckled wistfully in response. "You know, Harry. Most of those who visit Hogwarts always believe my office, or the Great Hall to be the most magical places in the castle," he explained. "There is a certain measure of truth in that statement, but I can safely say that the library has them beat."

Harry's bewildered look was a testament to how underrated Hogwarts' library truly was. "How?" he asked.

"Magic, Harry. Magic," Dumbledore responded lightly. "Magic itself conceals the most dangerous and taxing scripts, to be revealed only to those with the moral fiber and power to use them."

And despite the clarification, Harry still felt like he missed the point. It definitely showed on his face and Dumbledore continued with his explanation. "Take Ms. Granger as an example," he said, not noticing the frown on Harry's face. "She, like many of Rowena's house, sees a never ending supply of theoretical knowledge. I am reasonably sure that she had read about the magicks you used today, but it was in theory only and never with detailed instructions on how to use them."

Dumbledore took another sip. "She simply lacks the power for it, and the library recognizes that."

"And I have that power?" Harry asked sceptically, despite the sudden rush of excitement that ran through his body.

"You should not underestimate how much magic of the most taxing level you used today, Harry," Dumbledore answered. "Spells of which even one would have rendered a sixth year unconscious and with severe magical exhaustion. The fact that you were able to use so many of them at all is a feat in of itself."

Harry sank back into his chair, trying to process the information Dumbledore had just given him and for nearly an hour, no one spoke. Sometimes, during that period, Fawkes returned from his hunt and landed gracefully on his perch, noticing the solemn mood and remaining silent. The headmaster, in the meanwhile, was working on some backlogged paperwork.

The uncommon trio could have sat down like that forever, but the fiery sparks emitted by Dumbledore's grandfather clock brought them back into reality. "Oh my, you have been her for two hours already, Harry," Dumbledore exclaimed surprised. "I do believe that it would behoove us to separate for now."

Harry himself was surprised of how late it was – the clock had just struck midnight – and he sluggishly rose from his seat, feeling rather sleepy after lazing in the comfortable armchair for hours.

He walked over to the door, but Dumbledore's voice made him halt. "You did well, Harry. And I am sorry that I can only give you small advice regarding the tasks. My oaths as judge prove to be most obstructing," he said.

Harry smiled. "Goodnight, Sir," he answered and closed the door carefully.

Now he only had to sneak back to the common room. Not an easy feat by any means with Filch and Snape prowling around.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 27. November 1994**

_Hopefully they'll never notice it_, he thought and was, indeed, pleading that the caretaker, or worse, Snape, would never notice how he mauled the floor of Hogwarts. If they ever saw it, detentions would be the last of his problems.

Harry knelt on the dusty floor, sweat pouring out of every pore, and continued to carve symbols into the ground, hoping beyond hope that his research would prove to be correct. If not, well...

The last two days had been torture and the tiny bit of privacy he had gained over his three years at Hogwarts had evaporated into nothingness. On some level he even accepted that he was always going to be a public figure, but the sudden increase of his reputation after the task had been ridiculous.

_Merlin's reincarnation_, he thought derisively. _As if_!

As a last attempt at fading into obscurity, he had used his new found knowledge about the library had searched for something that would help him to remain in the shadows, disappearing from the mind of the public completely.

It had been a futile endeavor, really, and the only thing he found had been a beginner's book on warding. The library simply hadn't judged him as worthy enough to gain the information he sought and, honestly, he should have expected it.

Knowledge had to be earned, after all, and with a subject as volatile as magic, it could prove to be disastrous if he messed up because he didn't do his work first. For now his plan was fairly simple though and until he found something worked better, he would go with it – selecting an empty classroom and warding it as much as possible with his meager skills.

Drops of sweat fell from his hair, landing on his nose, and he snorted when he thought about the electives he had chosen back at the start of his third year. He should have left Divination alone, taking Ancient Runes instead. Now he had to learn a completely new subject and it proved to be harder than he had ever imagined it to be.

He jerked and was brought out of his musings, for a moment staring confused at his bloodied hand. His eyes wandered over the floor and when he spied the broken knife, understanding settled in and a curse left his lips.

"_Corium Consanesco_," he whispered and the cut on his hand glowed green, sealing itself. "The fourth bloody time," he muttered angrily and vanished the traces of blood.

He eyed the knife warily and swished his wand, repairing and hardening it for good measure. There was no doubt though about the duration of the charms and he knew that sooner, or later, he would cut himself again. At least he could chain the charms quickly as they both started and ended with the same motion.

Harry had yet to finish the ward and groaned when he saw that one rune was still missing in his scheme. _Ōþalan_, the symbol for estate, or home. He wasn't the owner of the room, but the rune was a part of the ward and he couldn't just ignore it.

It took another hour until he was finally done and he read a last time through the chapter that concerned him. It wouldn't do to mess up such an _easy_ ward, he felt.

_Certior Fieri Proximitas - The proximity ward_

_The proximity ward is one of the easier wards that have been invented throughout the centuries of wizardry and while the age of its discovery is believed to be two-hundred years before the building of Hogwarts, its use has never lessened in any shape or form over time._

_..._

_After inscribing the necessary runes and using the correct wand motions, the caster has to envision the area he wants to ward and only after those steps have been taken is the incantation 'Certior Fieri Proximitas' to be used._

…

_The power of the proximity ward diminishes proportionally to the distance between the area that is to be warded and the warder. This limitation is only present during the actual process of casting and has no bearing on the ward itself after it has been successful activated._

_..._

_An example for a proximity ward gone awry is the story of Graham the Bear, who lived during the twelfth century and was firm in his belief that his wife philandered during his quests away from home. He had no proof, but heard about the ward and promptly inscribed the runes on his threshold. It was a great misfortune for him that the ward didn't take hold as he activated it far away from home, on the other side of England to be precise. Five years later he finally caught his wife with another man, who coincidentally was his brother's best friend._

_Defensive and offensive warding schemes - Book I_

_Looks peachy_, he thought before closing the book. Harry rose from his seated position and took his time to examine the room for a last time. He had to concentrate and there could be no mistakes.

He closed his eyes and wove his wand through the air – in patterns that were ridiculously long for a ward out of a beginner's book. _Swish, flick, circle-clockwise, swish, half circle-clockwise, flick, the symbol of eternity_ – and on it went. Harry continued in this vein until he came upon the last movement, a simple circle over his head.

"_Certior Fieri Proximitas_," he uttered and instantly felt how the magic took hold of the room. For a precious moment he saw a thin shimmering dome expand from the tip of his wand, reaching into every corner of the room and then, vanishing entirely.

And suddenly, he was _aware_.

He couldn't describe it, couldn't explain how he knew that no one but him was currently in the room, or near it, but he knew. The ward had worked.

Harry sighed in relief. This was by no means a perfect solution, but with the help of his cloak, the map and now the ward, it would be definitely easier to avoid most of the people that haunted him.

He wondered for a short moment if Dumbledore knew what he had done, but in the end it didn't matter. If the headmaster had wanted to stop him, he could have done that easily.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 28. November 1994**

"Mr. Potter," a voice behind him resounded through the halls.

Harry immediately identified it as the one belonging to Professor McGonagall and stopped in his tracks. She sounded flat and definitely not pleased.

_Why didn't I walk faster_, he chided himself. By now he could have been in the kitchens, lazing around and eating wonderful delicious food. Harry had taken quite a liking to the small beings that thrived on the fulfillment of others' desires. It was an attitude he admired greatly, but would never be able to emulate. A house elf's mind was relatively simple, if a bit confusing, and that made it easier for them. As a human, pleasing everyone simply wasn't possible, so he didn't even try.

Instead of running away, Harry turned around and faced the stern transfiguration mistress. "Professor? he asked.

"Mr. Potter, why weren't you at the house meeting I arranged? Several students had the strange idea that you simply vanished over the last month," she replied, quite angry.

Her mouth was set in a thin line and Harry could tell that she wasn't happy. Then again, he had had no information about a meeting.

He decided to answer with a half truth. "I prepared for the next task."

Technically, he had no idea what the next task even was, but there was no need for his professor to know this. It did remind him though that he still had no clue about the golden egg.

"The meeting was mandatory for a reason, Mr. Potter," she said. "It would behoove you to attend the next time one is called."

Something about her tone vexed him and he had to ruthlessly obliterate any of his responses that emphasized his current feelings on the matter of house loyalty. Instead, he stayed polite – the imperceptible narrowing of his eyes the only indicator toward his feelings.

"In this case, I'm sorry, Professor. It won't happen again," he replied. "Can you tell me what was talked about?"

McGonagall nodded sharply and launched into a short explanation. "On December the twenty-fifth, a traditional Yuletide ball will be held here at Hogwarts."

A bombshell if there ever was one and Harry's first instinct was to decline immediately. The professor, it seemed, had already anticipated his response. "The attendance to the ball is mandatory as well and I sincerely hope that this time you will appear, Mr. Potter."

He really wondered if the barb, which was as subtle as a rampaging hippogriff, was supposed to have an effect on him. "Do we have to dance?" Harry asked the, by far, most important question about the ball.

"Of course you have to dance, Mr. Potter. As one of the champions you are to open the ball. If that is all, I have essays to grade now that I've finally managed to inform you," she said waspishly.

McGonagall turned around and left with quick strides; an echo sounding through the hallways each time her shoes hit the floor.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 2. December 1994**

"_Reducto, Stupify, Aquapilatum, Debiles Fulem, Confringo, Reducto, Defodio, Everte Statum, Expulso, Percutere_," spell after spell crashed against the wall, generating a spectacular light show. The room was bathed in a colorful glow which, despite its beauty, was incredibly dangerous.

He whipped his wand around merciless and jabbed it toward a quickly transfigured dummy. "_Sagitta_!"

The arrow shot straight out of his wand and impaled the lifeless puppet; the iron arrowhead buried deeply into its gut.

Still, Harry frowned and started the motions again, not with a stab this time, but with a jab toward his target followed by a circle. "_Ardere Sagitto_!"

Dozens of arrows materialized in front of him – bathed in crimson fire – and with a simple flick they flew toward the imaginary target, setting it ablaze.

Before the fire managed to spread, however, he resumed the intricate motions and used a most ingenious spell. It created water bullets – the size of trashcans – and hurled them at the area his wand pointed to. The properties of the spell were useful, but what truly made it remarkable were its wand motions, which coincidentally started and ended with the same move.

"_Aquapilatum, Aquapilatum_," he shouted and two balls of water crashed into the burning dummy, the delay hardly noticeable at all.

_Then_, he fell to his knees.

Exhaustion was clearly visible on his face and the sweaty clothes clung to him like a second skin. Half an hour he had bombarded the southern wall of his room with a variety of spells, most of which he wouldn't have learned if not for the blasted tournament.

The feeling of exhaustion was soothing and left him no time to think about the problems he faced in his current school year. The golden egg that was supposedly a clue for the next task remained as mysterious as ever and the Yuletide ball, where his presence was required, left a bad taste in his mouth.

To escape these problems, even if it was only for a short time, he had completely dedicated the last couple of days to improve the room he used. His goal, as far fetched as it sounded, was to modify the room to such a degree that it didn't only serve as a hiding place, but as a training chamber as well.

Hours went into his research and they finally paid off when he found another ward that was highly practical to his cause, the _Lapidosus_ ward.

It had been invented to harden walls against outside forces, literally fortifying them to an insane degree. The largest disadvantage, however, was its tedious casting process. It wasn't difficult, but strenuous and in the end it fell out of use after several new wards were created to defend against spells.

As the newer wards were way above his skill level, he had resigned himself to another day of dutiful carving and it took bloodied hands and further fifty-three wand motions until he had gotten the expected result. Now his southern wall was able to take any kind of damage he dished out without making a noticeable dent in it.

The smoke he created by dousing the flames lifted and Harry took his time to survey the destruction he caused, analyzing it with a calculating gaze.

Some of his spells had veered off course and led to broken tables and chairs. Harry plucked a splinter out of the floor and scrutinized it with an unsatisfied look. He couldn't afford to let his accuracy waver with the kind of magic he threw around. One missed spell could instantly cripple an innocent bystander. That much was clear to him after his late night discussion with the headmaster.

He shook his head and gathered the last bit of magic he would use that evening.

"_Reparo Fortis_," he muttered and flicked his wand lazily through the air, watching how every bit of furniture repaired itself, leaving no trace of the destruction he had wrought.

He briefly considered a foray into the nebulous world of potions that had been embittered to him since the first time he had met Severus Snape. The information on how to brew a simple Pepper-Up potion should be easy to access and would many of his training sessions go smoother.

First and foremost, however, he had to haul himself toward the dorms. It was the place, where his incredibly inviting bed was waiting, after all.

* * *

**AN**: For some reason this chapter was incredibly hard to write. The most problems occurred when I wrote the dialogue between Dumbledore and Harry. Rewrote it three times until it finally fit.

The chapter is revised now and if you have any questions, ask in the comments or per pm.

New spells used:

_Aquapilatum_ - shoots a ball of water from the wand tip

_Debiles Fulmen_ - weak electrical strike

_Sagitta_ - a single arrow from the tip of a wand

_Ardere Sagitto_ - multiple burning arrows conjured in front of the wand

_Percutere_ - magical hit (like a fist)

_Corium Consanesco_ - heals small and superficial wounds

Wards used:

_Certior Fieri Proximitas_ - Proximity ward (sends a tingling sensation to the ward holder, whenever someone is near the warded area)

_Lapidosus_ - Ancient wall hardening ward


	3. Chapter 3

Here's the third chapters, revised and rewritten. Approximately thousand words have been added, as I wasn't quite content with some of the explanations and descriptions I've written. Honestly, I could kill myself right now, as I've forgotten that Spike has already beta'd the 'old' third chapter... Hopefully she won't kill me for the additional work x) Enjoy, and if you have questions ask them per pm or in the comments.

* * *

**Magicks of the Arcane**

Chapter III

* * *

**Hogwarts - 3. December 1994**

The orange tinted flame of a single candle illuminated the rough wooden desk while Harry poured over a thick transfiguration tome, utterly fascinated by the art that would permanently change his furniture. It was late into the night already and with the exception of two extraordinary diligent ones which observed the ongoing laundry, even Hogwarts' elves were resting, leaving the meal preparations for the next morning.

His room – the refugee he had created for himself – wasn't even close to be completed. Quitting, however, wasn't a term he associated with himself and thus he persevered. To have a personal training area was great, no doubt, but an empty room wasn't a place to feel comfortable in and he wanted to rectify that as soon as possible.

He focused on the words written in black ink and finally, after what had seemed like hours of perusing the book, he found the passage that concerned him.

"_Mutare Mensar Scitates_," he whispered and his finger trailed over the page. These were the words that would allow him to change one of the rickety old desks in his room into a finely crafted one.

Hopefully, the new desk would resemble the desk he had seen in Dumbledore's office.

He jotted some last notes on the parchment next to him, before carefully closing the tome. Another sip emptied the cup of tea and he regarded the piece of pottery with dry amusement – during the time he had researched, he probably requested dozens of refills.

The nearly inaudible popping sound to his left announced the arrival of an elf and once again he marveled over the zealous little creatures which, even after centuries of punishment and slavery, remained so loving.

"Harry Potter Sir, want more tea? Tipsy can make new batch," the excitable little elf asked with twitching ears and big round eyes shining with happiness.

He regarded her fondly for a moment, but shook his head slightly. "Thanks, Tipsy," he said and cast a quick _Tempus_ to check the time. "I think it's been enough for the night."

The book, the parchment and his quills were quickly secured in his bag and he smiled at the two elves which busied themselves with cleaning nonexistent ink stains on the desk.

"Goodnight," he whispered and left the kitchen.

Now, he only had to avoid Mrs. Norris and the various patrols.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 5. December 1994**

"Look, it's Potter,"

"He was really powerful-"

"Yeah, but did you see how-"

His expression hardened as he sat down amidst his gossiping peers. Soon, very soon, the defense lesson would begin and not even Parvati – rumor monger beyond belief – was foolish enough to talk, to even whisper, when Professor Moody taught.

The classroom in which defense was taught had always been a topic of heated discussion among the students of Hogwarts, maybe even more so than the professors themselves, and it had many reasons to be. Every teacher decorated it differently, left his own mark on it and, ultimately, it offered at least some kind of insight into the person that taught them.

Quirrel had decorated it with long garlands of garlic and other rather circumspect things that allegedly helped against vampires; Lockhart had used the room as his own personal shrine, lining the walls with his portraits; Moony had exhibited various magical creatures as it was the direction his many studies had taken him in out of personal reasons; and, this year, Alastor Moody followed the tradition and set the room up like one would expect from an overly paranoid Ex-Auror.

It was a simplistic setting that provided the professor a lot of cover and his students none bar their desks. Various instruments, not even remotely looking like the ones he had seen in Dumbledore's office, were placed at strategically important positions. Harry wasn't able to identify many of them and only recognized the dark detectors and the foe-glasses, but it didn't matter to him. Whatever the others were for, he was sure they had their uses.

He let his gaze wander, but aside from the enchanted chalkboard where words magically appeared, only the jars containing spiders were of interest.

_Spiders which Moody often used to demonstrate different curses_, he thought and shuddered.

"Shut your mugs," Moody growled and limped into the room, the door banging shut behind him.

The man flicked his wand and sent light stinging hexes through the room, cursing everyone he deemed either unprepared or, even worse, unaware.

Harry, having become quite used to it, hid behind his hastily erected _Protego_ and watched how Zabini was hit with a _Rictumsempra_ while Neville showed some rather impressive dance moves.

"Hopeless, the lot of you," Moody cursed under his breath and threw a piece of chalk at Seamus for good measure. "How often do I have to drill it into your useless skulls? _Constant Vigilance_!"

The man's roar had efficiently subdued the class and no one dared to protest his behavior. Being taught by a legend like him was as frightening as it was exciting and with a professor like that, there was no time to stand up and complain.

Not that Harry wanted to.

"Today, we're going to review a dark curse that was heavily favored by many of You-Know-Who's follower," he grumbled and the chalk that had previously smacked Seamus returned to the board, speeding up the process of the enchantment. "Additionally to that, it also ranks highly on the ministries list of forbidden magic. Now, look."

The professor took one of the spiders out of the jars and engorged it until the arachnid reached the size of a small cat. Harry wasn't really on amiable terms with him, but he still glanced over to Ron who looked a bit green around the nose.

An orange streak of light hit the spider and the whole class watched – entranced by the gruesome display – how it wretched around, splitting open and oozing dark slime. He wasn't all that interested in the curse and used the time to observe some of the Slytherins that focused their whole attention on the lesson.

It was surprising that Malfoy, while being quite fascinated by the curse, seemingly had no prior knowledge of it. _Maybe it had something to do with his upbringing_, he mused. It was possible that his mother had intervened when dear old Lucius wanted to teach his son the finer aspects of dark magic. His theory was given more weight when he noticed the knowing glint in Nott's and Bullstrode's eyes – both were part of a family in which the patriarch reigned supreme and the matriarch had no say whatsoever.

Then again, who knew what had really been going on behind the closed doors of Malfoy Manor.

"The _Entrail-Expelling Curse_," Moody's voice boomed through the room and broke Harry out of his musings. The Spider was nothing more than a gooey mess on the professor's table, quickly to be vanished by the disgruntled man.

"Splits you open and brutally removes your innards," he explained. "Still think the _Killing Curse_ is cruel?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. That might as well have been a direct slight against his parent's sacrifice and he didn't like it one bit.

Moody, though, wasn't finished yet. "Wait until one of your friends leaks his guts, slowly dying in your arms!" The words were accentuated by the man's fist crashing onto the table with each new word. "Now, open your books, page eighty-four."

His magical eye swiveled around and looked at each of them, or was it _through_ them?

"Read the chapter and, by Merlin, do not practice it. If I find out that one of you used the curse, I'll personally end you."

The lesson lasted for another thirty minutes and Moody demonstrated the curse two more times, explaining it in great detail. The former Auror even wrote some arithmetic formulas on the chalkboard for some of the eager students that took Arithmancy as an elective.

Still, despite the legends about the retired Master Auror, Harry couldn't help but become wary of him. For a moment – even if it was a truly short one – the man had looked like he enjoyed the cruelty heaped onto the engorged spiders.

The lesson with Professor McGonagall was equally cursed that day and the woman sniffed haughtily whenever she wandered around his desk. Obviously, the unintentional slight against her authority had left lingering effects on her behavior and, to make matters even worse, he had decided to attend only three courses – Defense, Transfiguration and Charms. It certainly didn't endear him to the teachers, nor did it help him to gain friends.

That his mind even wandered through those precious few lessons didn't make it better either.

He had no doubt that asking her for help would end up in a harsh berating.

* * *

The last remaining hours of sunlight were used up in his attempts to change a desk into the sophisticated study table he had seen in the headmaster's office. And although his tries were met with success in the end, it came at the cost of emptying his reserves.

_Again_, he thought irritated.

He had lost count on how often he had spoken the incantation during that time, repeating the words _Mutare Mensar Scitates _in his mind – over and over again.

Now, only minutes away from another chat with Dumbledore, he wondered whether he was truly such a despicable human being. Deserted by his friends, scorned by his teachers and left with only an old man for company, of whom he didn't even know if he considered him a friend.

The gargoyle stood tall and proud, and Harry asked it if the headmaster had the the time to speak with him. It leaped aside and Harry quickly scaled the stairs, knocking on the sturdy door. Once acknowledged, he walked into the office with more confidence than he really felt.

His eyes wandered around, discreetly looking for any interesting artifacts he might have missed during his last visit. He was delighted when he did indeed find something and he examined the beautifully crafted harp that leaned on a shelf.

_Godsögnsvanir –_ as was written beneath it, and he made a mental note to consult some books later on to learn about the magical instrument that had caught his interest.

Not wanting to appear rude, he turned around and saw the jovial headmaster looking at him, curiosity burning brightly in his intelligent blue eyes. Fawkes, the fiery avian, was comfortably perched on the man's shoulder and gave him a bob of it's head.

"Hello, Harry. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" Dumbledore asked.

Open books littered the large desk and huge stacks of parchment towered over his head, but to Harry it simply looked _right_. As if the idea of any other setting for the headmaster was simply ludicrous.

Suddenly, he felt guilty and wondered if he had interrupted important work. Aside from Sirius, Dumbledore was his last pillar of support and he really didn't want to annoy the man.

The wizened headmaster, however, took one glance at Harry's change of expression and made an educated guess as to what was bothering him.

"I don't know why you are here, Harry, but I'm glad nonetheless," he said and gestured to the paperwork with an annoyed swish of his hand. "It provides ample excuse for me to take a reprieve from this tedious work."

Dumbledore put his quill away and filed several parchment in different stacks. "One would think that our government and the ICW were able to function without someone to double check everything," he muttered.

After the utensils were stowed away, Dumbledore turned around and directed his whole attention to Harry. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"I, I need dress robes," Harry mumbled, thoroughly embarrassed. "And I don't know how to dance."

He noticed a flash of sadness on the headmaster's face, but it vanished quickly and was replaced by a determined glint. "That is, indeed, a problem."

One of his long wiry fingers tapped the wooden desk, producing a weird rhythm. "Professor McGonagall informed you are to open the ball, I assume?"

"Yes, Sir," Harry answered.

"Good, then we have to make sure that you can adequately represent House Potter and Howarts as her champion," Dumbledore said. "_Even if illegally entered_." And Harry was quite sure that he wasn't meant to hear the last part.

Dumbledore's face took on an absent minded expression and he missed the questioning look that Harry sent his way. "I have an old friend who has taught wizards in such matters for decades now," he mused. "It might be prudent to ask her for help, if you are agreeable?"

The man's brows wrinkled when he saw the obviously confused lad in front of him and, not for the first time, he rued the day that he had left a young and impressionable child with the Dursleys.

_What have I said now, that confuses him so_, Dumbledore asked himself.

The blood protection was important, of course, but had he made a mistake on that fateful night? It was a question that often plagued him whenever he saw how the boy was confounded by the most simple aspects of wizarding society.

"Do you have a question, Harry?" he asked.

"Um," Yes, Harry had questions – a lot of them, in fact – and currently they were mixing with the horrifying thoughts about dance lessons. "House Potter?"

Dumbledore's head snapped up sharply and he saw the older man frowning. For a moment, he wondered if he had said something wrong, but the headmaster alleviated that fear when his look became apologetic.

"I apologize, Harry," he said. "I was under the impression that Hagrid explained your status to you, when he accompanied you to Diagon Alley."

"He did!" Harry exclaimed heatedly. "He told me about the whole boy-who-lived business, and about Voldemort." The defense of his first friend was paramount to him.

Dumbledore raised his hand to placate him. "It wasn't my intention to insult Hagrid," he said and continued to explain, never giving Harry the chance to feel ashamed for his sudden outburst. "He is a trusted friend and if there is someone to blame, it is me. Because for all of his endearing qualities and his big heart, I failed to account for his forgetfulness."

Harry flushed and groaned inwardly. _Good show, Potter. Way to embarrass yourself_.

"That is a mistake I intend to correct as soon as possible," Dumbledore said and stroked his long silvery beard, gazing at Harry and seemingly thinking nothing of Harry raising his voice. "Hagrid informed you of your history with Voldemort, true, but that is purely from a social point of view. What you also need to know, however, is your standing in the political side of our world, including the Wizengamot and your status as the Potter heir."

"And what does all of that mean?" Harry asked and a look of disdain crossed his face.

Dumbledore chuckled inwardly. The young Potter was barely able to hide his disgust at the idea of politicking with the likes of Malfoy and Fudge. No doubt, his latest interactions with the ministry didn't paint them in a very good light.

"At the moment, Harry, it only means that you have to cultivate some connections and represent yourself accordingly at official functions," he explained. "On your seventeenth birthday then, you will be declared the head of House Potter and thus enter the Wizengamot."

"Wonderful," was the disparaging answer.

"Indeed, but never fear, Harry," the headmaster smiled wryly. "Elize, the woman that will teach you is a master of the fine intricacies of politics and etiquette. I am sure that she will take the time to educate you, if we tell her how woefully unprepared you are."

Harry sat in silence and mulled over his newly revealed duties, considering the consequences each and every of his decision would carry from now on. Potter heir and, later, Lord of House Potter?

His life would always be complicated, it seemed.

"What of my dress robes?" he asked at last.

"You, like every other student allowed to attend the ball, will have the time and opportunity to buy them in Hogsmead," the headmaster answered. "In your case, however, it might be prudent to wait until your lessons have begun."

He nodded thankfully and glanced at the _War Tapestry_ for a short moment. Dumbledore had explained it to him, had told him how imprecise the map was, but it soothed his worries nonetheless, to see Britain glow in a radiant green.

"If you can make some time in two days, then we can go to Diagon Alley," Dumbledore said and Harry suppressed a snort. As if it was his own time that Harry was concerned about.

"Thank you, Sir. I appreciate it," he said.

His fear rose however, when he saw the infamous twinkle enter the headmaster's eyes. "Oh, I am sure you appreciate it even more when you have met Elize," he chuckled. "Now, if that was all, I believe you still have some homework to do."

Harry didn't bother the man with the fact that as a champion he had no homework and, instead, he made his way out of the office.

Just as he had crossed the threshold, Dumbledore spoke up again. "Warding is serious business, after all, and it should never be taken lightly."

Harry's head snapped around, but he only found the closed door behind him. He had to smirk. The old man really knew what he had been up to.

_Old coot_.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 7. December 1994**

"There you are, Harry. Hurry," the headmaster said frantically and ushered him into a room with a large fireplace. It was huge and looked like it was able to hold more than five people at once.

"We have to be swift," he explained. "Elize is a woman you never want to cross."

Dumbledore pulled a small pouch from his belt and piled blue crystalline looking powder on his open palm. The headmaster blew the powder into his face before Harry even had a remote chance to ask what it was supposed to do.

"Harry, I will answer your questions as soon as we reached the alley," he said. "We will travel by floo; _Diagon Alley twenty-three_ is the correct address I believe."

And now further explanation followed as Dumbledore had already vanished through the fireplace, leaving a confused Harry behind.

XxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXXX

Harry stumbled out of the fireplace and crashed face-first onto a polished white marble floor. The chuckles of his headmaster reached his ear which were still ringing from the violent method of transportation.

He rose to his feet, coming face to face with the smiling woman that stood next to Dumbledore and, quite forcefully, he had to remind himself not to stare. The brown hair, barely disrupted by a few strands of gray, was done in a beautiful way. Her whole appearance radiated elegance.

"You were right, Albus," she said. "We have much to do. Fortunately, you were punctual this time around."

Her words were soft spoken and sounded pleasant, but he noticed a sudden look of anxiety crossing the headmaster's face as soon as she mentioned the word _punctual_.

Dumbledore regained his composure quickly though and turned to his young student. "Harry, this is Lady Elize Broadmoor," he said with flourish. "She will be your instructor for the day."

Harry nodded to himself and walked over to her. "Good morning, Mrs. Broa-"

A mild stinging hex interrupted him and he noticed the wand that loosely hang between er well-manicured fingers. "Lady Broadmoor," she corrected him. "Polite terms are important for a person of your standing."

_Only wanted to say hello_, Harry thought moodily. He remained silent though, confusion written plain on his face.

"If you are not sure how to correctly address an unknown woman, always use the term _Lady_," she explained. "If she is one, then you acted accordingly to protocol. If she isn't, then you have flattered her." She smiled at him. "Neither is a bad thing."

He had to concede that point and started anew. "Good morning, _Lady_ Broadmoor."

She nodded in satisfaction and Harry took it as a sign to continue. He grabbed her hand in a short, but firm, grip and shook it. Elize's expression changed quickly, but even if he saw it, he interpreted the signs to late. Another stinging hex hit him and, this time, it was a bit more painful.

Elize looked exasperated. "You never shake the hand of a lady when you greet her," she said. "A slight bow and a chaste kiss to the knickles are appropriate in those situations. Remember that your lips barely touch the hand."

Slowly – but surely – he became irritated and the smug look Dumbledore wore didn't exactly help his state of mind. He was reasonably sure that the second the headmaster had mentioned Elize, he knew exactly what would happen should they meet.

A small part of his brain wondered if the man had brought some lemon drops to suck on. It was the perfect sweet while watching the fabulous show that called itself _Potter __Comedy_.

"Good morning, _Lady_ Broadmoor," he said again and bowed, brushing his lips lightly over her hand.

"Satisfactory," she remarked. "Learn quickly and beware, the hexes will become gradually more painful." She smirked as she continued to speak. "I would hate for Albus to be disappointed because I started to use _Crucio_ on you."

Her voice was saccharine sweet and Harry saw Dumbledore's pleading look. He was horrified by the prospect, but also curious. Had she done it in the past? Had Dumbledore suffered under the curse as he learned how to act accordingly?

It certainly explained his skittish behavior around her.

"I assume that this is Harry Potter, heir of Hous Potter," she said, mustering him. "Why does he not look the part?"

"Appearance wise, it is because of this," Dumbledore said and pulled the small pouch out again. "_Dolus Pulvisculus_, the result of advanced Alchemy. For approximately five hours it creates a strong illusion around the target, more resilient than any glamor charm. Harry does not notice it, but to everyone else he looks like a blue eyed boy with blond hair."

Elize grazed the headmaster with a hard look. "Why the deception?" she asked.

"I did not presume your schedule to be empty, Elize, thus I chose this method as a safety measure," he explained. "The arrangement should only be known to us and our vaults."

"So we have to act in secrecy," she mused, clearly intrigued by the blue powder. "Very well. You already explained the circumstances and we have much to do. First and foremost, I will concentrate on the finer aspects of dancing and dining in company."

Once again, her eyes landed on Harry and she took a few minutes to observe him. "What about his date?" she asked.

"_That_ is a problem he has to resolve himself," Dumbledore answered, smiling slightly.

"And his dress robes?"

Harry felt way out of his comfort zone and the headmaster answered the question for him. "I advised him to speak with you on the matter."

Elize nodded. "That is probably for the best. Make yourself useful, Albus. Arrange appointments with a barber and an optometrist. He is in dire need of both," she said.

At first, Harry thought Dumbledore would complain against such a direct order, but the man only hummed in agreement.

Then, Elize turned around to him again. "Follow me, young heir. It is time for your first lesson."

She walked away and he followed her obediently. His pace, however, was very, _very_ sedated and his eyes trailed her swaying behind that – despite her apparent age – looked rather firm. She looked like a woman in her late thirties, in fact, but how she had accomplished such a feat, he had no idea.

Dumbledore watched silently how his long time friend led the lad away when, suddenly, said boy doubled over in pain and clutched his stomach. He drew his wand and looked around for the cause, but stilled when he saw Elize's poisonous smile. It was something he had seen often enough already and recognized it instantly as the one she reserved for perverted thoughts of any kind. He shook with silent laughter and popped another lemon drop into his mouth.

_Ah, the folly of youth_, he thought as he turned around, intent on fulfilling his task.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 14. December 1994**

In these last days, he worked relentlessly. Being forced to split his attention between the research for new warding schemes – befitting of his sanctuary – and an obscene amount of hours spent in the company of Lady Broadmoor, he really hadn't much time for himself.

Truly, it was a hassle to memorize the appropriate greetings, to learn dancing and dining among political figures as well as the social upper class, but he endured it – endured it was single minded resolve well known to those he had saved during his earlier years at the magical castle.

The money for his lessons came, after all, directly from Dumbledore's personal vault as he had learned later that day. He protested it, of course, but Elize had shushed him like an unruly child and told him that it was the headmaster's way to repent for something. For what, she could only speculate.

So, he endured and persevered, determined to make the most of the grueling hours.

_Dolus Pulvisculus_ – the mysterious powder – was a his constant companion during the time with his pleasant, but strict instructor and everyone he had met at her place only knew him to be Nathal Broadmoor, a distant relative of Elize. It was the perfect disguise and prevented any kind of trouble about the amount of time she spent with him, preparing him for the Yuletide ball.

These days were painful, but at least he had managed to avoid the _Crucio_ she constantly threatened him with and, after Professor Moody's demonstration, he wasn't all that keen on experiencing that particular curse any time soon.

It came as surprise though, that the art of dancing was a wonderful form of relaxation for him. The beautiful woman in his arms wasn't unwelcome either.

He had, of course, earned himself several painful hexes at first, but the Lady called it psychology and reinforcement of her lessons. _Well_, he disagreed and called it torture. Not that he would tell her that in the near future.

All of these things – even if they were important – didn't matter to him at moment, however, as he had finally found the third ward he would cast on his room; and that also lied within his capabilities.

He grinned and several of the studious Ravenclaws, occupying the library seats next to him, wondered what had made the reclusive Gryffindor so happy. He paid them no mind and eagerly absorbed the words written in black ink, happy that the library apparently judged him worthy enough to take the next step in the art of warding.

It might have been the two wards he had carved into the castle's very own foundation that had convinced it. Anyway, he was glad that he found the book.

_'Mala Fides Ad Proximitas' - The intent based ward_

_The Mala Fides belongs to the category of supplementary wards and therefore has to be keyed into an already existing one. It is mostly used in combination with the Certior Fieri Proximitas and determines if the person recognized by the proximity ward has bad intentions towards the warder, or the warded area. In such a case, the ward holder will be informed. If not, however, only the signal of the usual proximity ward will be transmitted._

_..._

_To create a Mala Fides ward, the appropriate runes have to be inscribed next to the proximity ward's and they have to be linked through the universal rune of connection, Gebo. Afterward, the user has to put seven drops of his blood on the rune of connection and use the described wand motions. The incantation is Mala Fides Ad Proximitas._'

_It is perfect_, he thought and whispered the incantation to himself.

He quickly scribbled the important information on a piece of parchment. Maybe, he should buy an empty and collect his notes in it. The idea had merit, he supposed.

Harry pocketed his writing tools and made his way through several secret passages – currently, only known to the Weasley twins and the Marauders. He walked through the dark tunnels until he reached the exit hidden behind a portrait, finding himself in front of the Great Hall.

And as much as he reveled in the peace and quite his own room and the kitchens provided, Lady Broadmoor had made it unmistakeably clear that as the future lord Potter he had certain responsibilities.

Responsibilities that could seldom be met without social connections and acquaintances.

He steeled himself and, for the first time in nearly two months, strode confidently into the hall. Few students didn't notice him, many observed and stared at him, but those, he decided, were inconsequential at the moment. He sought out the Gryffindor table and saw Ron speaking with Dean, while Seamus listened intently. Hermione sat next to Ginny, her nose buried in a large tome.

_Probably a history book_, he thought.

His gaze didn't linger though and wandered over the table, noticing the curious stares from the three beautiful chasers. He gave them an appreciative once-over and saw Alicia smirk when she noticed him ogling them. Harry was about to ignore them too when he, surprisingly, saw Neville sitting next to Angelina, leafing through a stack of parchment.

Alicia whispered something into Katie's ear and both beckoned him to sit with them. He shrugged, not all that troubled by it, and took his place next to Neville, who was so engrossed in his readings that he didn't even notice him.

"Hey, guys," he greeted them.

The heir of House Longbottom – according to Elize – startled and his head snapped up. He quickly saw the changes in the boy-who-lived, noticing the new rectangular glasses and the freshly groomed shoulder length hair.

"Hello, Harry," the chasers chorused.

With practiced movements, honed throughout three years of Hogwart's education, he piled food on his plate and gave Neville the time to collect himself.

"Haven't seen you 'round for a long time, Harry. Were you away?" Katie asked the question that was obviously on their minds.

"Not that it's any of our business, of course," Neville amended nervously, getting curious looks from the three beauties.

"Nah," Harry mumbled, swallowing his food. "Just wanted some peace. With everyone going bonkers over the tournament that's pretty hard recently."

"Right. Can't blame them though," Neville said.

"Yes, you were kinda awesome," replied Angelina sultry, batting her eyelashes. The two other chasers giggled.

"Please, for all that's holy, not you too!"

Angeline batted her eyelashes faster and puckered her lips, but Neville looked a bit cross with him. "I'm not fawning, Harry," he said. "It's just, I heard stories about such magic, you know? Grand told me about them; and to see it personally..." he trailed off toward the end.

"Well, yeah, but I had to do it. How else would I have gotten to the egg?" he asked.

The girls smirked as one. "We could have totally helped you to find your eggs," Katie said.

Instead of blushing, however, Harry leered at them. "I'll make sure to remember that offer for the future," he said and laughed.

He glanced at Neville, but instead of the anticipated blush, he looked guilty.

"I'm sorry that I didn't stand up for you," he whispered, eyes firmly glued on the stack of parchment in front of him.

"Doesn't matter anyway now," Harry said. "I know you're shy, so don't worry. I won't bite your head off."

He took an inconspicuous glance around the table and saw that the three chasers looked chastised and rather ashamed of themselves. "Gryffindors value bravery and their comrades in arms above all else, but it looks like these traits got lost over the years; bearing some minor exceptions, of course."

A few noticed his harsh stare, but he ignored them. "You're by far the most pleasant company in Gryffindor right now," he said. Then, he noticed Angelina's chest move up and down as she breathed and smirked. "Well, I guess you guys too."

Alicia swatted him on the arm, but still looked a bit guilty. "Harry, we're sorry too," she said and the other two nodded.

"No worries," he waved them off. "Anyway, nice talking to you guys, but I gotta go. Next task won't be easy either."

He rose from his seat and turned around, when Neville spoke again. "Harry?"

"Yup?"

"If you need any help to prepare," he said quietly.

"I'll ask. Thanks for the offer, Nev," Harry answered and smiled at him, before he walked out of the hall.

* * *

_Date_ – the word, the idea, the concept – it had hounded him for over three hours now and not even the delicious tea that Hogwarts' elves brewed for him helped to sooth his nerves. Lady Broadmoor had snickered, snickered for Merlin's sake, when he mentioned that he loved no one enough to take them as a date to the ball.

_The notion that you have to love the person you take to an official ball is ridiculous_, she had said, thoroughly enjoying his horrified expression.

And for an orphan like him, who knew no love but always strove for it, the idea that such a pure force could be corrupted was maddening. The mere possibility that it could be soiled by intrigue and politics was awful.

It was, however, the cruel reality he had learned to be the truth after several hours with his instructor. She then had mentioned that it sometimes happened and a couple attended a ball out of sheer love, only to squash that particular ray of hope when she added that those were mostly Muggleborns and Halfbloods.

For a short moment he had harbored the fear that Elize was a blood purist, but she disabused him of that notion with a quick whack to the head.

_I am no more blood purist than Albus_, she had said, looking on smugly as he held his head in pain.

_You have to learn how to move in certain social circles, and if you manage to marry a Muggleborn or a Halfblood without falling in disgrace, all the better_, she had further explained.

_Do not, however, squander such a good chance to form new connections, when you yourself told me that you had no one to take out of love_.

She had been right, as usual.

His father had left him the legacy of House Potter and he would do his best to make his old man proud. Additionally, he had managed to marry his mother without falling in the eyes of his political peers. At least in the eyes of those that mattered.

And if his dad had done it, then he could do it too.

The empty cup of tea was forgotten and he rubbed his temple in annoyance, thinking about whom he could take to the ball. More importantly, how in Morgana's name would he manage to convince said person?

The girl he thought about first was Susan Bones. She was beautiful and her aunt – a powerful witch in her own right – was the head of the DMLE, the magical law enforcement. A friendly relationship with her was bound to come in handy sooner or later, and his smile quickly formed into a perverted grin as he visualized Susan.

The girl possessed a voluptuous arse and magnificent tits for her age, not to mention the wonderful red pigtails he could pull while he-

_No, I have to remain focused_, he thought. Those images, while highly satisfying for a teenager like him, weren't relevant to his current problem.

Susan as a date would boost his standing within the school tremendously, probably even that of her aunt, but it also brought a whole slew of new problems with it. How would he even get her to agree? She was a headstrong girl, that much he knew and the Hufflepuffs and him weren't exactly on amiable terms.

No, it didn't matter how influential her aunt was, if winning her over was more trouble than it was worth. A part of him was disgusted by the thought of judging people only by their worth, but he squashed it quickly.

_Do not delude yourself into thinking that they are not doing the same_, Elize had said. _Everyone with even a shred of political upbringing will go through the same decisions. Love, as unfortunately as it is, has seldom place on such a battlefield_.

The firmly memorized words helped to keep him calm and he pondered his other options.

Hanna Abott fell in the same category as Susan. Her father had a good clout in the Wizengamot, but she too was a Hufflepuff. It seemed as if the house of the loyaland hardworking was a no-go in this matter.

Ravenclaw, at first glance, was a veritable treasure trove. But – after carefully going through each viable option – he learned that the first glance often was deceiving.

Cho Chang, a beautiful and exotic girl, was his first option. Not just because of her stunning looks, but also because her family was heavily invested in oversee trading and held various honorary positions in the Chinese ministry.

Then again, one look into Hogwarts' grapevine revealed that Cedric had already asked her out and she had accepted. It was impossible to get her as a date now, but as she was going with Diggory and would dine with them, the situation still offered ample opportunity to form some sort of connection with her.

Padma Patil wasn't as superficial as her sister, but also not really viable. Everything he would achieve through her, would be counteracted by her sister Parvati, who _definitely_ didn't like him after all the times he had insulted Trewlawney. It was a shame too, as she was quite the looker in her own way.

He snorted when a stray thought brought up Marietta Edgecombe. "As if," he muttered under his breath.

Her mother worked in the office for transport regulations at the ministry and while it was no elated position, it had the potential to become useful someday. No good connection in the world, however, would make him take her to the ball. His social standing within the school would come crashing down the second he was seen with her.

That left Luna Lovegood, who's father was the editor of a rather interesting tabloid. He had to discard her immediately, even if he didn't really want to. Not because she wasn't friendly, no. He could even imagine that they would have a grand time and that her unique perspective would live things up accordingly, but the choice to take her – even as a friend – would have repercussions.

For one, she was a year younger than him and it would be perceived as a weakness if he took her to the ball. Additionally to that would come the immediate fall in his standing due to the her and her father's low reputation.

_Shame that_, he thought, but Elize would skin him alive he just took her as a friend without considering the consequences.

The only women that interested him from the house of the cunning were the sisters Greengrass and Tracey Davis. Astoria was too young, however, and while Daphne was incredible beautiful and a connection with her would be highly beneficial due to her father, it would also stir up all kinds of trouble at Hogwarts.

Well, he didn't really mind the trouble, but she had no reasons to go with him and he had nothing that could potentially change her mind. The same could be said for Tracey and it made it highly unlikely that any of these girls would even consider to become his date.

Bullstrode and Parkinson were as quickly discarded as they entered his mind. Harry shuddered. Although Elize would rip him apart for not seeing them as an option, there was no way in hell that he would even think about them.

That left only Beauxbatons as Durmstrang only brought males to Hogwarts. Maybe the school was only for boys, but he didn't know that for certain. Anyway, the only woman from the French school that had caught his eye was Fleur Delacour. Her father was -according to his research – the head of the french DMLE and her mother held a rather influential position in the French Veela conclaves.

"_Fleur Delacour_," he whispered.

He knew that she had been asked several times already, but also that she had refused each and every of her suitors. The act of convincing her would be a seriously difficult task, bordering on futility.

Nonetheless, he had to try it. He was a Gryffindor for a reason and while his Slytherin side did the thinking, it was the part of him that placed him in the lion's house that would take charge as soon as he had the opportunity to talk with her.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 16. December 1994**

He watched as she left the Great hall with an envoy of two other French beauties, but – as was the effect Fleur's ethereal beauty had on people – they could be called plain and ugly next to her.

Harry had done some more research and had, inconspicuously of course, listened into several conversations about her – courtesy of his father's cloak. So, now that it was time to make his move, he was as prepared as he could be. His anxiety rose again, as it had done quite often in the last hour, but he squashed it ruthlessly and took a deep breath, steeling his resolve as he walked over to the small group.

"Lady Delacour, a word please," he said, trying to appear as tall and confident as he could.

Inwardly, however, he was a nervous mess when he felt her allure hammer against his consciousness and saw her two companions eying him critically. Not one muscle in his face moved and he regarded her indifferently while he waited for her answer.

_Stay strong_, was the mantra that he chanted over and over in his mind. _Don't let her see any weakness, stay strong_.

He really hoped that his performance in the first task gave him enough leeway to ask for an _audience_. He was just a _leetle_ boy, after all. Right?

_Wrong_, he thought.

He would show her that while he wasn't her age, he was still a force to be reckoned with.

"Of course, Seigneur Potter," she answered and turned to her friends. "Celine, Maria, _excusez-moi_."

He led her to an abandoned classroom where they would be able to talk in peace and, as soon as she passed the threshold, he flicked his wand and closed the door behind them. Fleur seemed curious enough as she watched him, but remained silent for the moment.

"A second please, Lady Delacour. I want to secure our talk," he elaborated.

He grinned. _Leetle boy_? Yesterday he had spent hours to find a plethora of silencing and locking charms just for this single moment.

His wand rose and – like a conductor to some kind of symphony – he wove it through the air. Lights of various colors left his wand and even two bright domes expanded from it. The professionals called this kind of charm time-oriented wards, as they only worked for a small period of time. On the positive side, however, they didn't need any runes but those he traced into the very air.

"_Fremitus Tutela, Claudara, Porta Operiras, Circumstruo Ad Silencium, Clastrum Praevaleo_," Spell after spell left his wand and with each he managed to successfully cast, Fleur's eyebrows just rose a little bit higher.

Hopefully it worked as he had intended it to and he managed to impress her.

_Maybe, the headmaster had been right_, he thought. He was only in his fourth year and it had been ridiculously easy to learn those charms in one night.

"What do you want to talk about, Seigneur?" she asked at last.

Harry was impressed that her accent had nearly vanished over the time she had stayed at Hogwarts. He also noticed, gleefully, that she now called him _Seigneur_ instead of _leetle boy_.

"I have an offer to make," he answered.

And again he felt a wave of her allure reach out to him, this time even stronger than in the courtyard. It took some effort, but he shrugged it off without changing his facial expression of careful neutrality.

"Oh? And what is this offer you speak of?" she asked.

"I'm in need of a partner for the ball. Coincidentally, we both are champions and have to open it with a dance," he said.

The best he could describe it as were gigantic oceanic waves, when Fleur's allure crashed into him with no restrain; and it took all of his mental fortitude to resist her. The strength of her will – the same will she was currently trying to impose on him – was easily on par with Professor Moody's _Imperius_.

Then again, he was often told that he had a bit of a stubborn streak and his mind was his alone. He wouldn't yield. It took a while, but then the strength behind her presence lessened and she regarded him with a contemplative look.

"Why should I go with you, Seigneur Potter, when I have denied so many others?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Well, I'd have a beautiful date and you would have the only male student even remotely close to your age that can ward off your allure," he answered. It was time to close the deal. "I was under the impression that you'd like that. More, at least, then being constantly drooled at."

"You're pretty young," she said, hesitancy creeping into her voice.

"Every bit of negative backlash you could get due to my age would be countered by my current status," he replied.

And, _oh boy_, did he feel proud of himself right now. He had done it, had – bolstered by his Gryffindor courage – asked the delectable Fleur Delacour to be his date for the Yuletide ball. Now, she held all the cards and he couldn't help but wonder what he would do should she say no, which was – despite all his arguments – still a very real possibility.

Fleur took her time and he fought hard not to fidget under her scrutinizing gaze. "I will think about it, Seigneur Potter," she said and rose from her seat.

Relief flooded him as he heard her answer. _That_, was decidedly more than any other male currently in the castle could say. He nodded and canceled the charms with a flick of his wand, watching intently as she strode through the door with a mesmerizing sway of her hips.

_Better than I'd expe_

* * *

_cted_, he thought and smiled.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 17. December 1994**

Clad in his newly acquired pants, he knelt on the floor, once again carving runes into Hogwarts' cold stone. It was tedious work as usual, but after he had found a sharpening charm for the knife it went a bit faster.

The charm was the improvement that he had desperately needed, as the _Mala Fides_ ward used more runes than his first two wards combined. He wiped the sweat from his brow and stood up, regarding his work with a critical look.

_Everything seems to be in order_, he thought.

And now, all that remained were seven drops of his blood to be smeared over the rune of connection, _Gebo_.

He picked up the knife he had discarded moments ago and pricked his thumb, watching intently as seven lonely drops spilled out of it. Remembering the next phase quite well, he recalled the wand motions a last time.

"_Mala Fides Ad Proximitas_," he intoned clearly.

It took over thirty-nine wand motions until the ward took hold and keyed itself into his proximity ward. He felt his awareness expand to the whole room, but just as he was about to congratulate himself, his senses went haywire and he jumped backward.

_Curious_, he thought. The newcomer hadn't activated the _Mala Fides_ and had only sprung the Proximity ward. It stood to reason that whoever the intruder was, he or she was friendly or neutral at least.

He gripped his wand tightly – a curse on his lips – and scanned the room, until his gaze landed on a regular barn owl. Harry sighed in relief and walked over to the avian, quickly unfastening the small piece of paper bound to its leg.

"Let's see," he muttered, absently waving his wand and transfiguring an empty ink pot into a dish filled with water.

_Seigneur Potter,_

_I accept your invitation to the Yuletide ball and hope we will have a good time. My dress will be turquoise colored and it is my deepest wish for you to dress accordingly._

_I hope for your sake that you can dance!_

_Fleur Delacour_

He reread the letter, ran a single victory round through the room and whistled merrily, a happy smile plastered on his face. The letter was blunt, but who cared anyway? He had a date with a beautiful and well-connected lady; and not even Elize could say something against that.

Harry watched the owl fly away, but suddenly a feeling of unease befell him. It was as if he had forgotten something important over the last two months...

* * *

In the shadowy confines of the _Owlery_, amber eyes opened slowly. The glint in them promised painful retribution.

* * *

**An**: Well, that's it. I also have decided to write in AmE and not BE, as most of you are from the USA. Usually, I don't pander to the masses, but the numbers speak for themselves. Hell, if I could, I'd probably write in every language. Always wanted to learn Spanish at some point...

New spells used this chapter were:

_Mutare Mensat Scitates_ - Transfigures something into a richly decorated study desk, depending on the casters power.

_Circumstruo Ad Silencium_ - A temporary silencing ward (advanced)

_Fremitus Tutela_ - A temporary silencing ward (simple)

_Claudara_ - A temporary locking charm (simple)

_Claustrum Praevaleo_ - A temporary locking charm (advanced)

_Porta Operiras_ - A temporary notice-me-not ward for doors

The wards except the _Mala Fides_ - for those who forgot - are the proximity ward, and the wall hardening ward to prevent spell damage.

Now, my faithful flock of sheep *mad cackle*, I'm off to write my dear beta Spike a pm that she has to work on this chapter again. Pray for my soul, for she won't be merciful!

So far,

Eilyfe


	4. Chapter 4

Here's the 4th chapter guys! I tried to make it a bit longer, but found my limit at ~12k words. Respect to those, who can write more per chapter.

**Guest**: Thx for making me aware of the mistake! I will correct it soon, but for the moment you have to bear with Percy being a student in one chapter, and being a ministry worker in the next :P

**smeeman**: Now thats what I call constructive criticism. I tried to work on several points you mentioned and hope to have improved somewhat in that regard. I tried to immerse myself more into the Harry during the scenes and as you said, they got a tad longer in the process, but I've got real trouble with pinning Dumbledore down. That is partially due to the need for a somewhat ooc Dumbledore in my story. I try to hold myself to the following principles concerning him : Wise and strong, jovial and cheerful, piss poor behavior when drinking.

Ps: I deleted the lemon for safety reasons. Wouldn't want those Admins to crack down on me! But do not fear my fellow perverts, I already uploaded it on another site! More infos on my profile.

**Magicks of the Arcane**

Chapter IV

* * *

**Hogwarts - 19. December**

Harry sat behind his new desk and looked out of the window, observing the magnificent spectacle of thousands of white snow flakes warring for supremacy, while his hand ran over the smooth wooden surface of his latest transfiguration accomplishment. A frown was etched on his face as he watched the sky in ruminative silence and pondered how to deal with his godfather - the only man that unconditionally loved him for being _just_ Harry.

Thick wads of high quality parchment - _Vellum_ or _Vélin_ as Lady Broadmoor had called it, were lying next to the expensive swan feather and the charmed ink pot, filled with _Masi_ - ancient India ink made with a receipt that was older then the legendary castle Hogwarts itself. The various, and highly difficult charms on the richly emblazoned pot made sure that the ink would dry on the first contact with parchment, and that each automatic refill would be fined to his Vault, lying deep in the protected caverns of Gringotts.

He was not taken by all the gaudiness these costly items presented, but arguing with Elize, as he had started to call her in private, seemed to be an exercise in futility.

So he endured.

Endured and emptied his pockets of the Galleons he had initialy planned to use for the entirety of the fourth year.

'Words written on cheap parchment will, despite their importance always land in a stack of paper that can be read at another time.' she had said.

His first impulse had been to protest such a superficial advice, but one look at the austere face of his Headmaster gave this predication all the credence it needed, and it made him sad. Sad to see that such a world, which despite its numerous dangers still held and housed so many wonders, allowed itself to be so shallow.

Rain broke free, escaping the massive, thundering clouds on the horizon and as the first drops fell onto the piled snow on his windowsill he looked on how they merged, how they mixed with each other and his thoughts were flying a mile a minute. Was he slowly loosing his naivety in the company of his Headmaster, despite the older mans jovial nature?

He took his wand and gave it a small whirl, igniting the candle on his desk and the torches lining the walls of his sanctuary, bathing the room in a soft glow.

Illuminated by the various flickering lights he looked at his wand. The art of wordless magic was arduous and after practicing the spell for hours, he still had to consciously suppress the incantation that always wants to leave his mouth.

His gaze landed on the newly acquired parchment and he reminded himself of the letter he still had to write this evening. With all the stress surrounding the Triwizard tournament, he had completely forgotten about Sirius and it was high time to inform him about the ongoings in his life. He wondered if his godfather even knew about the tournament, the first task, or the dragon. Had Dumbledore told him, or would Sirius be angry that he only learned about it from a letter written after the danger was overcome?

"Of course he will. Probably come here as well." he muttered to himself. It was an inane question. Sirius would somehow manage to make his way to Hogwarts and although Harry would love the support of his godfather ... it would be an incredible dangerous undertaking.

Dozens of reporters, national and international alike were already swarming Hogwarts, always searching for the best scoop or some nasty rumors. Important political figures like the Minister and various Department heads were going in and out of Hogwarts - talking, politicking and planning the tournament.

Even Sirius Animagus form could not hold under such scrutinity and lifting the veil of secrecy, seizing the only form of free movement that the man had, would doom him to a life of boredom. A life, that the freshly escaped convict would loath with all his being. The danger of an anonymous tip to the Auror department by Wormtail, should even a rumor of a black dog near Harry appear, complicated matters further beyond the scale of a bold venture.

No.

It was better for Sirius to stay where he currently was. Far away from British jurisdiction, parochial politicians and petty adversaries like Severus Snape. But how to convince him? The letter had to sound and look mature, or Sirius would gravely underestimate its severity.

He dipped the tip of his new feather in the _Misa-Ink _and slowly started to write, hoping beyond hope that his godfather would grasp the letters gravity.

'_Dear Sirius,_

_I apologize for not writing earlier, but as you might have heard through the grapevine, the Triwizard tournament is being held in Hogwarts and as my extraordinary luck dictates, I stumbled into the next life-threatening situation and the Goblet of Fire made me the 4th champion, but not all hope is lost_.'

He paused and considered his next words carefully. Telling Sirius about the Dragon would be tremendously stupid and would only incite the man, filled with worry, to do something reckless.

Omission might be the best course of action, he thought, and while he felt despicable doing it, he would shoulder the blame once the danger of Sirius coming to Hogwarts has passed.

'_Even if indirect, Professor Dumbledore has helped me to prepare for the tasks that lie ahead and he will help me to survive them so do not worry too much about me._

_Sirius, I implore you to stay where you are! Please, don't be foolish and come here! No difficulties in my life are worth your incarceration and once all this is over we can finally live together. You getting back to Azkaban would only make this harder._

_Love you,_

_Harry_'

Blowing air through his lips and reading the letter once more, he sincerely hoped that Sirius would heed his advice.

He held the parchment under the candle holder and let three drops of hot wax drip onto the bottom of it, directly below his signature. Cursing Elize under his breath he took the recently acquired ring that signaled his status as Heir of House Potter from his finger and pressed it into the red mass until the Potter coat of arms clearly stood out and a surge of pride rushed through him.

A sword thrust through a round shield and covered in ivy - it was simple and not nearly as fancy as some of the coat of arms he had seen on the genealogy tapestry that hung in the office of Zungolnak, Gringotts Senior in all matters relating to ones ancestry, but it was his families crest. It showed that he belonged.

After the wax had dried, he rolled the parchment carefully together and tied it with a red satin ribbon that was more expensive than a simple piece of cloth had any right to be. Although calling it simple might be wrong, as it had very advanced charms woven into it, to make sure that no one but the intended recipient could loosen it.

Harry hoped that Sirius would be surprised enough by the Potter insignia to temporarily forget about any and all plans he might have hatched for visiting him.

* * *

"_Lenis Planipes. Fieri Inolens._"

Harry brandished his wand in a well practiced fashion, once again silencing the sound of his boots hitting the floor and vanishing his scent. He took the finished letter from the desk, placing it in his robe with great care and grabbed the familiar cloak that still, after decades of use, felt like woven liquid in his hands.

As soon as he stepped out of his sanctuary on the third floor and had closed the door, his wand was in motion, weaving figures and runes into the air.

_"Claustrum Praevaleo."_

_"Porta Operiras."_

Now, that it took more than a simple _Alohomora_ to open the way into his private area, he could make his long way to the Owlery, where Hedwig would wait on him. He shuddered at the thought of how angry she would be with him for neglecting her two months long.

Shrouding himself in darkness, concealed by his fathers cloak, he moved to the great staircases at the center of Hogwarts, always clinging to the corners where no torchlight could reach him and he remained save from sudden reflections affecting his most dear possession.

He had long ago lost his fear of being out of bounds after curfew - many of his adventures had, after all only added to his disregard for that certain regulation, but tonight he could do without a conflict between him and the forces of order and correct behavior.

His green eyes pierced through Hogwarts shadows at night as he crept from step to step, steadily observing the constellation of the staircases to avoid their sudden movements. Deeper and deeper he slunk into the lower levels of Hogwarts until he came to a stop in front of an old portrait near the entrance to the dungeons.

"I solemnly swear, I'm up to no good." he whispered and fondly looked at the old and worn parchment, on which lines of black ink slowly formed the outlines of his school, revealing its deepest secrets.

A thorough check of his vicinity showed him that neither Snape, nor any Slytherins were near, but that Filch, the old and grumpy caretaker, was slowly making his way towards the dungeons.

"Mischief managed."

He quickly folded the map, his father and his friends had created, and secured it on his belt, before eying the portrait in front of him.

A rather rotund witch, dressed in blue robes and with a pointed hat adorning her head, slept peacefully in it, seemingly not bothered by anything in her proximity. The sound of boots hitting the foundation of Hogwarts approached and with a rising panic, that felt completely unbecoming for a champion, he realized that it was Filch, who stood just around the next corner.

"Patix cerefa!" he whispered harshly and jumped through the revealed entrance, as soon as the portrait jumped aside, rousing the dumpy witch out of her sleep. Only after the portrait hole slid shut, did he allow himself to breath a weary sigh and relaxed his tensed muscles. Sneaking through Hogwarts would be definitely more fun if he didn't carry a letter that had lethal potential in the wrong hands, he thought.

The possible chain reaction Filch would have caused, had he gotten his hands on the tied parchment, could have been catastrophic. Harry was reasonably sure that the caretaker had neither the knowledge, nor the power to get rid of the charmed ribbon - that much was clear after he had confirmed the rumors of Filch being a Squib in his second year, but Severus Snape was another matter entirely.

Filch would have undoubtedly alarmed the Professor that disliked Harry the most - Snape, and while he did not know if Dumbledore had informed the man of Sirius innocence, there was no way that he would put Sirius existence in the hands of his petty Potions Professor. Too much bad blood had flown between the two of them, and he couldn't be sure that Snape wouldn't abandon his rationality - or whats left of it - to get a bitter sweet revenge.

As confident as Harry was, that the charm woven into the ridiculous pricey piece of cloth would hold, the thought of Severus Snape getting his hands on it made him uneasy. There was no telling if a man with such knowledge of the Dark Arts could overcome the highly advanced privacy spell that had been cast on it.

No. Snape and Filch should be avoided at all costs that night.

"_Lumos._" he muttered, after the sounds that Filch made remained only a rumble in the far distance. For minutes he wandered the hidden passage -high, low and around corners, while contemplating the use of learning to cast the light spell silent. As he reached the end of his way and stood behind one of the gigantic stone warriors that adorned the ground floor of the Clocktower, he extinguished the light on his wandtip with a soft spoken '_Nox_', completely bereaving the hall of light.

It took some minutes, spent in utter silence, until his eyes had gotten used to the new darkness. Fitting his body tightly against the wall he crept slowly but surely towards the Courtyard entrance, until his movements came to an abrupt stop.

Suppressing the urge to curse violently, he pressed his head against the cooled stones of Hogwarts, thankful that the thin fabric of his cloak did not render the feeling useless. He needed a calm and collected mind to get out of this one, for sure.

Like a watchdog Snape sat on one of the various benches in the brightly illuminated Courtyard, his eyes roving around the area, making sure that no errant student would cross his way unnoticed.

The usually beautiful place, fraught with ivy adorned columns and a magnificent fountain in its center, looked suddenly ugly and devoid of life with his hated Professor in the midst of it.

Using the short moment, when Snape looked elsewhere in the attempt to catch 'evil-doers', he moved quickly behind one of the many _Abelia_ bushes - the large shadows, thrown by the enormous open double-doors, aiding him.

Was it Snapes goal in life to make him miserable, he asked himself as he surveyed the area and fervently tried to come up with a plan. He could use one of the benches to knock him out, but as soon as the idea came up, he abandoned it. It would feel great, no doubt, but it would also bring far-reaching consequences he was not willing to face.

The Headmaster would have his hide, if he gave Snape a concussion just to get into the Owlery after curfew.

He desperately needed a distraction. Something that would give him the time to escape towards the wooden bridge, that led to the grounds of Hogwarts. His eyes snapped to the hated Potioneer, who had stood up and stretched his legs. For a vicious moment he hoped Snape had cramps and needed to visit Madam Pomfrey, but then he spied something from the corner of his eyes, and a grin tugged at his lips.

He had found his distraction.

Gripping his wand tightly in his sweaty palm he pointed it at the medium sized statue of the bird that adorned the fountain and whispered fiercely under his breath.

"_Animatus bellatorius._"

Hoping, that Snape hadn't heard him, he watched how the bird slowly became alive and with soft strokes of his wings lifted up into the air, hovering behind the Professor and preparing itself to attack. It was small enough not to injure him, but large enough to serve as an adequate distraction for him to get away.

Tensing his muscles to the maximum, he prepared himself for his dash to the bridge - and was shocked to see his chance of escape reduce itself to zero.

"_Reducto!_"

Snape, with long ingrained habits after being in a war, had whirled around by the first sign of an attack and fired the first curse that came to mind. The spell, Harry noticed, had slid of the bird, like it hadn't even been cast to begin with. The charm he had used to animate it, was an advanced form of the usual animation charm after all and was interwoven with several defensive mechanisms.

"_Confringo!_" Harry looked on, how the Professor didn't even hesitate to fire the next curse before he even saw that the _Reducto_ did nothing.

Harrys plan was quickly going down the drain and he banished any thoughts about running away. His fear was confirmed, when the light purple spell hit the bird and broke a large chunk of stone out of its wings.

Snape allowed his usual emotional facade fade into a derisive sneer and wove his wand a last time, while Harry despaired. He was fast, but not that fast - and he knew he would never reach the bridge in time.

"_Furvus luno fragosus!_"Harry had never heard of such a spell and with the bit of Latin he knew, assumed it to be a dark curse. Rightly so, as a sickle shaped light, tinted in dark yellow expanded from Snapes wand and hit the bird that was still trying to reach him, to fight him - shattering it in thousands of pieces.

I'm screwed, he thought, standing a few feet away from his hiding place. The few feet he had made before he stopped to see his animation being ruthlessly obliterated in a matter of seconds.

He couldn't move. One inch, even the lightest gust of wind his movement would cause, would alert Snape to his whereabouts.

"Show yourself!" the greasy man cried in fury and Harrys eyes moved in panic, searching for a way out of this not salvageable situation.

He couldn't let it end like this. Damn it, he cursed inwardly. Sirius freedom was at stake, and it was a bet he simply could not lose.

Snapes head whirled around, as the sudden hoot of a common barren owl made the man aware of its presence. Harry nearly stopped holding his breath, thanking various gods, Merlin and Morgana, for the welcome noise.

Quickly, while the Professor was distracted he pointed his wand towards one of the closed windows on the fourth floor of the Clocktower, that oversaw the Courtyard.

He always told himself, that he worked best under stress.

Now was the time to prove it!

Focusing his mind on a spell he had never even practiced without incantation, he let his magic pour out of his wand.

With a resounding crash the windows flew open and Snape, who had long lost his interest in the interfering owl, trained his dark eyes on the place where the sound had come from. Not wasting any time, the sourly Professor ran into the Clocktower, assuming that the culprit who had charmed the statue to attack him, had done it out of that particular window.

As the black, billowing cloak vanished into the darkness of the tower, Harry let out a sigh of relief and inwardly thanked the silent _Depulso_ he had sent over such a distance; but he had no time to wait. Running like the devil himself was on his heels he crossed the Courtyard and sped, without looking back, along the wooden framework of the bridge - not noticing how his magic, which was still in inner turmoil ignited every torch he left behind on his way to the other end.

Completely out of breath he walked towards the Circle of Stones that symbolized the beginning of Hogwarts grounds, his cloak tigthly tucked around him, when a pair of voices nearly made him groan in disappointment.

Not again, he thought, and quickly jumped behind one of the large _Menhirs_, carefully looking around it, to see whom he had stumbled into now.

"You know, we shouldn't be here..." A brunette girl said, and Harry instantly noticed the worried, but nonetheless exhilarated tone in her voice.

She was a Slytherin, that much he could tell from the bit of her robe that was illuminated by the torch they brought - the green trim was unmistakable, but he could not tell who it was.

"I know. But can you resent me for it?" The male answered, and held her hands in his own.

"No, but there will be hell to pay shou-"

The boy leaned forward, and interrupted her with an intense and passionate kiss. At least, that was what it looked like from Harrys perspective. He felt oddly like a voyeur, observing such a private moment.

His face became wondrous and he stared incredulous at the revealed red trim on the boys robe, as he had moved to break the kiss. His eyes wandered up and he finally recognized him as Tim Warths - 7th year Gryffindor, who just now had moved his head forward until their foreheads met, and had cupped her face in his hands.

"Where else Lydia? Where could we meet in peace? Our houses would condemn us, if they ever found out about our relationship."

Harry felt like being in a cheap romance novel. That line sounded like it was directly taken from _Romeo and Juliet_. He needed to scare them away, before they had randy sex directly in front of his innocent eyes - not that he hadn't had dreams about the other gender, but they featured him, and him alone with women. Besides, he wouldn't be able to look Tim in the eyes for a long time if he watched them now.

Not wasting any time, he pointed his wand towards some bushes nearby and hoped that his luck would once again endure. Silently sending the Depulso charm, he made the bushes sizzle rather soundly.

"Quick, that way!" whispered Tim, and Harry watched with unveiled amusement, how he pulled the girl away.

As soon as they were away, and he had finally gotten rid of every obstacle, he made his way uphill towards the Owlery that towered proudly above the grounds.

* * *

After scaling every damned step that led to the entrance of the Owlery, he hesitated and a foreboding feeling filled him. He was an idiot - that much was easy to discern.

He had completely ignored his owl, his loved familiar and first friend for two whole months. Stupidity on that scale should be punished, and he knew that it would be an difficult undertaking to get Hedwig to forgive him.

Steeling himself and fearing the worst, he opened the creaky wooden door and entered the Owlery, his eyes searching the rows of owls - which seemed to look oddly accusing at him. The search for Hedwig quickly became redundant, when his faithful familiar elegantly landed on his shoulder.

"Hi Hed. Long time no see..." he said awkwardly, but not even a simple hoot was returned.

Now he felt really miserable.

A stoic Hedwig was worse then an angry one; by far. Not a single sound escaped his owl, that stared ahead without even blinking, as he made his way up the stairs to the top of the tower.

He was in deep shit with her, and he knew it. Luckily he did not come unprepared.

"Hey girl..." he said and softly stroked her feathers, eliciting no visible reactions from her.

"I know I am a sorry excuse for a wizard, and I am truly sorry Hed. Please take me back." he continued pleadingly and got the first reaction out of her, as she cocked her head to the side and looked at him in a way, that clearly said she knew he was an idiot.

Reaching deep into his robe he pulled a small satchel out, opened it and held it under Hedwigs beak. "Look girl, I come bearing gifts!" The satchel was filled to the brim with various exotic and especially expensive owl treats he had asked Dobby to buy from Diagon Alley.

Not able to hold up her stoic owl facade, Hedwig dunked her beak greedily into the satchel and emerged moments later, two treats safely secured. Harry continued petting her, while walking towards a window, facing the Black Lake.

"You know Hed, I had a pretty turbulent life in the last two months." he stared into the amber eyes of his familiar. "Angry teacher, nosy students, enraged dragons and even Veelas. Not to forget my gorgeous instructor in dance and etiquettes."

"If you take me back girl, I promise you that my next project after the Yuletide ball is going to be a beautiful perch only for you." Hedwig looked at him, and if owls could narrow their eyes, he was sure she would do so right now.

"Don't look like that Hed, of course it will be in my room. Directly next to my desk!" He was promptly rewarded with her first hoot of the night.

"You Hedwig," he started and turned his head to muzzle his nose into her feathers, "will always be my first and foremost lady."

"Now girl, I'm sure you're bored out of your mind, cooped up like this, and I've got a letter for Sirius. What say you, want to deliver it?" he asked and received an affectionate nip on his ear. "Goody. This time I have to use a charm on you Hed, making you impervious to any means of tracing. It will make you safer."

Again Hedwig cocked her head and Harry snorted. "Now, now. No need to feel insulted, but this concerns Sirius and I would feel better if _you_ are as safe as you can possibly be. It is a really old charm and I doubt many people would know about it." He waited until Hedwig bobbed her head and then wove his wand in complex patterns around his familiar.

" _Baratum n__ôs __Æfren tor malactøm._"

"There. I've got no idea what language that spell is in, but at least the letters were somewhat readable. We can only hope it worked Hed." he explained and tied the rolled parchment to her legs.

"When you return, I will await you with your new perch!"

Hedwig gave him one last look before flying out of the window and slowly becoming a small dot on the horizon.

"Fly with gods speed, girl." Harry whispered, in fear for both - his owl and his godfather.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 25. December**

Christmas morning was an interesting experience for Harry, when he woke up at the crack of dawn and spied two nicely wrapped packages on the nightstand next to his bed. He put his glasses on and looked around the dormitory, seeing that Neville, Ron, Seamus and Dean were still asleep, producing an Orchestra of chainsaws with their combined snores and if he listened closely enough, he imagined that he could even hear an underlying beat to it.

With a grin he got out of his bed and grabbed his wand, that was lying next to a stack of books, silencing his feet in the process. There were many things he had to do today, so he quickly showered, put on his robes and left towards his room, the packages safely secured under his left arm.

Today will be a good day, he thought, and not even Rons erratic behavior or the disdain of his fellow students would put a damper on his mood.

With a smile tugging on his lips he walked through the hallowed hallways of Hogwarts, righting suits of armor and igniting torches, candles and lamps left and right, with only the barest flicks of his wand and some mumbled incantations. If Filch wasn't such a grumpy bastard he might have entertained of helping him in the morning for some easy earned galleons, but with the caretaker being who he was, that seemed all but impossible.

The staircases took some unusual routes today, delaying his walk to the third floor a fair bit, but he took it in stride and even stroke up some conversations with ancient wizards and witches that had seemingly led an interesting life, and now after their death, were willing to regard him with sometimes amusing, sometimes amazing, and sometimes horrifying tales.

When he finally reached his room, he quickly vanished the time-oriented locking charms on the door and entered, feeling far more happy then he had in the last several months.

"Now lets look what we've got here." he mumbled to himself and carefully unwrapped the first package, which held a long dagger made from some kind of steel, that Harry had never seen before. He quickly picked up the letter lying next to the dagger and eagerly started to read.

'_Happy Christmas pup!_

_I hope you have a jolly good time at ol' Hoggy warts and wish you all the best! _

_Unfortunately I can't write too much in case the letter gets intercepted, but know that I miss you._

_Love,_

_Padfoot_

_Ps: The dagger is called 'Dagger of Sku'grad' and came from the Black family vault. I don't know the history behind it, but maybe you can do some research and find out._'

As much as Harry was happy about the present, and vowed to research it later, he felt terribly supported in his belief that Sirius would be incredible angry once Hedwig had reached him.

Not wanting to let his thoughts about Sirius anger diminish his mood he grabbed the next package, and after opening it found an old and worn belt in it. Curious about the weird gift, he took the letter from the present and let his eyes flow over the cursive words, that were written with an ink, he recognized all too easily now.

'_Dear Harry,_

_I found this to be a most useful present, as I started to notice that you show a great interest in the collection of magical Artifacts in my office. Everyone has to start somewhere, so let this be your first of, hopefully, many._

_Be sure to know, that this belt is not gifted to you in order to collect dust on some sort of shelf, but to be actively worn. I spared you the long search for its history, and included a small explanation on the backside of this parchment._

_Merry Christmas_

_A.P.W.B.D._'

Giddy and excited he turned the letter around and was incredibly shocked and thankful, when he finished. Shocked to such an extent, that he had to read it a second time, just to believe it.

'_The Belt of Hypolytos Perot - Hypolytos Perot was the Chief medic of Alexander the Great and accompanied him during all his campaigns through Persia, healing him and his officers. After complaining for several years, that he needed more place for the various potions and tools that he carried, Alexander in jest, gifted Hypolytos a new belt crafted from the most expensive leather obtainable in the known world._

_Hypolytos Perot took it in stride, but vowed to return the favor and charmed the Belt so thoroughly that it truly could hold hundreds of vials and tools. In awe of such an accomplishment, Alexander gifted him with the status of nobility in the muggle world of ancient Greek._'

He whistled appreciative and quickly fastened the belt around his robe. Maybe he should grow a beard like the Headmaster, to tuck it into the magnificent belt? After putting the dagger from Sirius into a drawer from his desk, promising himself that he would start the research for it tomorrow, he headed to the Great Hall.

The Christmas feasts at Hogwarts were always incredible delicious, and he wouldn't miss them, even if he had to sit in solitude.

He just walked around a corner, leading from the third floor to the Staircases, when Neville bumped into him.

"Urg, sorry Harry." said Neville and rubbed his head, that had just collided with Harrys. He looked, despite the grimace of pain, oddly giddy.

Harry groaned out, "No problem Nev. Merry Christmas by the way." massaging his own forehead.

"You too. Sorry again, but I've gotta go. Ginny just agreed to be my date tonight and I have to polish up on my dancing."

That certainly explained why he was so jumpy and excited. He had never talked that much with Ginny and firmly believed her to be behind her brother after all the dung Ron had started to sprout about him, but if Neville was happy... Who was he to argue with that?

"Great mate! Good luck." but the pudgy boy couldn't hear him anymore, as he already vanished around the next corner. With a shake of his head and a familiar twinkle in his eyes, he resumed his way. Neville really was one of a kind.

Finally arriving in the Great Hall, he quickly took an empty seat at the Gryffindor table and piled mountains of the delicious food on his plate. Today, he would gorge in it and enjoy life as it came.

He had just speared a lovely piece of potato with his fork,fully intending to savor every bit, when he heard the very unwelcome voice of Pansy Parkinson behind him. A quick glance along the table told him, that he had no help to expect from that side, and with a resigned sigh he turned around, finding to his great surprise not Malfoy in Pansy's company, but Theodore Nott.

The memories of several DaDa classes tugged at his mind, and he remembered the fascinated look on Notts face, whenever Professor Moody introduced a new dark curse. Oh boy, this was going to be fun...

Parkinson looked at him with a malicious grin, obviously awaiting some kind of answer.

"Excuse me, what did you say? I fear I was lost in the confines of my mind for the moment." Two could play that game, and who better to imitate in such a situation than the venerable Headmaster.

Pansy's face looked like a mix between anger and disbelief. "I asked if you have round up some poor _mudblood_ to go to the ball with Potter."

He heard sharp intakes from the rest of Gryffindors once glorious house, but none of them stood up to help him. Bloody cowards, the lot of them, he thought.

Giving her the most charming and sincere smile he could offer, he answered: "Why Lady Parkinson, are you offering? I am flattered, but unfortunately I already have a date."

Pansy was livid, but could only sputter for seconds. Nott on the other hand seemed to be truly enraged and started to finger his wand. Did he miss something? Had Nott some interest in the pug?

"She would never go with you Potter!" he grounded out in silent fury. "Pansy comes from an old and respected line and would never sully herself with the likes of you!"

"You should know Scion of House Nott, that he who boasts of his ancestry is praising the deeds of another." Harrys eyes narrowed, and he regarded Theodore with an intense and piercing stare. It promised retribution and humiliation, should only one tendril of magic reach him.

He had to give Nott at least some credit. While easily angered, the boy had a lot more restrain and was far wiser than Malfoy could ever hope to be.

Stowing his wand away Theodore turned to Pansy and took her hand. "Come, let Potter fester in his isolation." The sneer he gave him, was truly Snape-worthy. What the hell did the bat teach them, down in the cold and dreary dungeons?

Having truly lost his appetite, Harry finished his eggs rather unenthusiastic and walked out of the hall moments later.

* * *

The evening had come at last, and Harry stood in front of the closed gigantic doors of the Great Hall, patiently waiting for his date. Newfound confidence could only reach so far if gained in such a short amount of time, and inwardly he was a quivering and nervous mess, going through each and every dancing step he knew.

The constant snide remarks from his once favorite Professor did not help either, and he wondered when McGonagall would finally stop being so soure about the one mistake. That was one Lady that could sure hold a grudge.

"I hope for your sake you haven't lied to me, and actually have a date ." She said and gave him her patented glare, that had the ability to send most First-years running.

"Yes I have. I've already told you, that I'm only waiting for her." he retorted, slowly but surely becoming angry.

"Mr. Potter! I'm warning you for your sa-"

"Lady McGonagall I ask you to consider your next words carefully." His piercing eyes landed on her, while he inwardly groaned. That came out a bit more aggressive than he had intended and she seemed to haven't even noticed the change of the way he addressed her.

"Why I never! Detention Mr. Potter - James would be sorely disappointed in your behavior!"

That's it, he thought, and brought himself to full height. Bringing his parents into the issue was just shameful and he wouldn't stand for it.

His green orbs were filled with an intensity that was eerily similar to the way he had looked at the dragon during his first task. "Are you accusing the Heir of House Potter of lying, Lady McGonagall?"

The stand-off was disturbed by Hermione, looking more beautiful then he had ever seen her, and her date Viktor Krum, who descended the stairs and came to stand in front of them. The Bulgarian Quidditch star only gave him a curt nod in acknowledgement, that was more insulting than friendly, and Hermione wore a weak smile on her lips, that vanished when Harry turned away after giving them a short glance.

His musings were interrupted, when McGonagall leaned forwards and glared at him. "The Detention stands Mr. Potter."

Before he could reply something and possibly escalate the situation further, Cedric and Cho appeared, looking like they were truly made for each other. Especially Cho intrigued him, as she wore a white and festive Kimono, that showed enough skin to entice interesting thoughts, but didn't look like the outfit of a common whore.

If he hadn't his own beautiful date, he would be seething in jealousy by now - of that he was sure. He was pleasantly surprised when Cho gave him a happy smile, despite Cedric who looked at him disgruntled. Rather like the rest of Helgas House always did in the last months.

"Vere is your date, boy?" asked Viktor with a potent sneer on his face, but was quickly shut up when Harry spied Fleur making her way towards him.

Using every ounce of Gryffindor courage he had in him, he confidently met her in the middle of the hallway and bowed, lightly brushing his lips over her knuckles.

"You truly are beautiful Lady Delacour." She rewarded him with a smile and eyed him with interest. "You too clean up well Monsieur Potter. Are we ready to go?"

"I do believe we are. And please, call me Harry. Such formalities have no place during a date." he said, and hoped that he didn't come on too strong. Fleur took it in stride and took his offered arm.

"_Enchantez_ Harry. _Je m'apelle_ Fleur." She grinned at him, and Harry knew that the evening was saved if she was really as easy going as she made him believe at the moment.

Turning around and walking with Fleur towards the other Champions was a feeling he truly relished in, especially after seeing the gobsmacked faces of his peers. Where is your boy now, Viktor?

Professor McGonagall had used the time to gather her wits. "Soon the doors will open, and we will enter the Hall in the following order: First, Viktor Krum with Hermione Granger. Second, Cedric Diggory with Cho Chang and Third, Harry Potter with Fleur Delacour."

Everyone nodded, and she continued: "You will take place at one of the four Tables for Champions, Teacher and important Politicians so behave accordingly." If anything, her stare become even more intense.

"After the feast, you will open the dance and what you do afterwards is up to you."

As soon as she had finished, the great doors opened and the Champions with their dates strode through. Harry quickly leaned over to Fleur and whispered in her ear.

"Now let us descend among the mortals and find what tickles our fancy." A sentence so overly arrogant, it could have been recited directly from Voldemorts manual of World domination, but made the French Quarter-Veela giggle like the schoolgirl she often forgets to be.

Harry felt blinded with all the pompous decorations he saw as he entered the Hall and the incredulous stares he received were as unnerving, as they were balsam for his ego. A feeling that was mutual between him and Fleur if the strength of her grip had anything to say.

He quickly navigated them to the tables, where Percy who properly hadn't heard about his fall out with Ron offered him a seat, but was ignored. Instead, he moved them to the two empty seats at the table of Dumbledore, who was already in deep conversation with a stern looking witch across from him, and had ample listeners by the two other wizards.

He nearly snorted, when he saw that his Headmaster had once again dressed in the most garish robe he could find, and quickly identified it as the robe he had bought while accompanying him to Diagon Alley, when Harry ordered his Basilisk armor.

It seemed like he had sensed them coming, when he suddenly looked up and his eyes filled with a nearly blinding twinkle. "Harry, Lady Delacour! You two look truly splendid! Come, have a seat and let me introduce you."

Harry and Fleur, who was surprised with the Headmasters overly happy nature, took their seats and reluctantly returned the compliment to Dumbledore, who looked even more cheerful afterwards. Of course, they didn't miss the reactions of the other three magic user at the table, who rolled their eyes and gave them wry smirks.

"Across from me sits the beautiful Madam Bones, Head of the DMLE and overall wonderful woman!" If he wasn't so sure that it was just the Headmasters natural manner, he would have thought that the old man flirted with the stern looking witch, who to his great amusement even started to blush faintly.

Not bothered by any of the ongoings at his table, Dumbledore jovially continued: "To my right, sit Dennis Ainsley - Head of the Hunter Guild and someone you should have plenty to talk about, as you aren't the only one who slew a Basilisk."

Now that was uncomfortable. Fleur, Madam Bones and the unknown wizard looked at him in surprise and shock, while Mr. Ainsley regarded him with interesting, but calculating eyes and the Headmaster remained oblivious.

"And to Madam Bones left-" he said and got their attention once again. "-you will find Laxley Chetwin, Head of House Chetwin and fellow member of the Transfiguration Guild."

Harry gave each of them a friendly nod and Fleur curtsied, but fate didn't want to spare them, and Dumbledore cheerfully continued: "Fellow wizards and witches, this is Harry Potter - Heir of House Potter and his beautiful date, Lady Fleur Delacour - Daugther of Arman Delacour, the Head of the French DMLE."

Laxley Chetwin chuckled and intervened before Dumbledore could continue with his introductions: "Albus," he laughed. "Let that be the end of your introductions please, I feel like we've all known each other for centuries after a few of them." His declaration was met with murmured agreement, and the Headmaster simply beamed at them, not even bothering to hide that he knew he had annoyed them.

The following minute of comfortable silence was interrupted by Professor McGonagall, who whispered something in Dumbledores ear and afterwards left to her own table, shared with Cedric, Cho, Amos Diggory and two wizards he didn't knew.

It became obvious that she had told him everyone was ready, when he rose from his seat and instantly all noise in the Great Hall disappeared. He spread his arms wide, like he wished nothing else, but to embrace each and everyone of them, and smiled.

"Students of Hogwarts, fellow Professors, and honored Guests." he started his speech. "I am pleased to see, and welcome back so many of you into these hallowed halls of knowledge, where those who search for it, will always find a listening ear or a helping hand."

Harry perked up. The ending of that sentence sounded awfully familiar and the last time it had held true, when he pulled the sword of Gryffindor out of the Sorting Hat.

"The Triwizard Tournament brings glory and honor to whomever wins it, but it provides something else - something vastly more valuable." He had an inkling what the Headmaster was going to say, and it was amusing to see the confused expression on the faces of his peers.

"It brings forth the chance to truly learn about each other, to gain knowledge of different cultures, and it builds the foundation that we walk on, when we strive for unity amongst us." the Headmaster continued, oblivious to the mocking stares he now received.

Harry however, was deeply impressed. While the idea sounded strange to those who took it for granted, he knew, that Dumbledore had spoken directly from his heart. That was no speech pre-written in a dusty chamber, but the soul and lifeblood of the Headmaster.

"For that opportunity I deeply thank the august schools of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, because without them, this wouldn't have been possible." Karkaroff and Maxime gave satisfied nods.

"And now," he said and clapped his hands together twice. "let us feast!" With those words he seated himself, and even those who mocked him for his idealistic view, started to applaud.

As soon as the noise died down again, the people started to order their food and gorge themselves into the incredible meals, the assiduous House elves had prepared over two days.

Harry however had no idea what to do, and was glad when the Headmaster leaned down and whispered into his ear: "Search something you want to eat, tap your wand against the plate and order it in a precise manner."

He gave the older man a thankful nod and did exactly like told, not noticing the amused look Fleur was giving him. Trying to remember everything Elize had taught him he ate, and paid special attention to every different bit of cutlery on the table, while trying to engage Fleur in a conversation. He had promised after all, to be a good date.

The meal took its course, and Harry was delighted to hear about the different kind of troubling situations, Fleurs little sister Gabrielle, always landed herself in. It was also a topic, Fleur obviously liked to talk about.

"Are you serious?" he asked, after she had regarded him with another tale of her sister.

She smirked, but remained silent.

"How does a eigth-year old girl steal a fully grown horse, and ride away with it?" Her response was tinged with laughter and her eyes shone merrily. "She told the man that she got lost and asked if he could phone the police for her. As soon as he was distracted she sneaked away, or better said - rode away. Father was furious!"

"And what did the original owner say?"

"He wasn't please of course, but what could he do to a little girl, without looking like a madman?" she told him, and grinned.

Harry gave a deep belly laugh. Fleurs little sister was truly incredible, and he would like to meet her someday, only if to hear the same stories from her own perspective. He was pretty sure, that there would be no romantic involvement with Fleur, but boy was he glad that he asked her. He hadn't had so much fun in months.

"Besides," she continued. "her birthday was only a month away and father ended up buying a pony for her anyway."

"You mentioned that she is ten, right? Will she follow you to Beauxbatons then?" he asked her with a cheeky grin, and was rewarded with a groan. "Don't remind me! A school completely made of glass, and I can guarantee that my sister will find some way to destroy it..."

So involved in their own little discussion, neither of them noticed that they had four avid listeners, who seemingly had nothing better to do then hearing the tales of a little girl.

Laxley Chetwin for one was glad that the two youngsters sat at his table. He was 79 years old, and had served forty of them in the Transfiguration Guild. Leading a sophisticated discussion with Albus was fine at first, but become strenuous rather quickly, and a glance to Amelia and Dennis revealed that they had pretty much the same feeling. He couldn't be bothered to spare one for the crazy old man, as he knew that Albus was secretly enjoying it, to torture him.

The short silence that ensured when everyone took another bite from their ordered meal or made a grab for their finely crafted Goblets to wet their dry throats was broken by Dennis Ainsley, who had remained silent so far.

"A word please, Mr. Potter. I am most interested in the tidbit of information your Headmaster gave us during my introduction." he said, before Fleur could start to tell another adventure of her sister.

The attention instantly settled on Harry, who gave Dumbledore a questioning look. He was reasonable sure that the Headmaster had a purpose for revealing his confrontation with the seventy foot snake.

Dumbledore gave him an imperceptible nod and Harry started to tell his tale for the captured audience, leaving out most of the circumstances concerning Voldemort. They only wanted to know about the Basilisk anyway.

"The story is pretty simple." he began, and got some incredulous looks, but didn't let it bother him. "During my second year the fabled Chamber of Secrets had been opened and some kind of monster started to petrify the students."

"Petrify? A basilisk kills with its stare!" he got interrupted by Laxley, but Harry only shrugged. "We got lucky in that regard. Every time the basilisk looked at someone, something was in the way to weaken the effect - Mirrors, Ghosts, Puddles of water - everything that could reflect or obstruct realy."

"And such a beast roamed in Hogwarts?" Madam Bones threw in, with a harsh glare to the Headmaster, who gave her a look that clearly said '_Not here!_'.

"It moved through the plumbing, and the pipes were large enough for it." he said, and considered his next words carefully. With the exception of Dumbledore, he knew nothing about the true stance of the witches and wizards at his table. His next words could be incredibly foolish, or had the potential to annoy someone, he really wanted to annoy.

"Had Professor Dumbledore been at the castle at that time, I am sure he would have rid us of that monster." He received a questioning stare from the Headmaster, that was quickly concealed as he started to understand where Harry was going with this. The fact, that Dumbledore didn't shake his head made him a bit more confident in his words.

"Unfortunately that was impossible because the Board of Governos led by Lucius Malfoy had used exact that time to aust him, and left Hogwarts defenseless."

The statement gained its intended result, and Madam Bones looked truly furious, while the other two adult wizards seemed to be disgusted. In contrast to Madam Bones they had no relations in Hogwarts, and it made the difference in their reactions understandable. Some bleak times would dawn for poor Lucius Malfoy with the stern witch after his head, and whom better then the Head of the DMLE?

Dennis Ainsley had watched the whole spiel with interest, but wasn't deterred from his original question. "So, how did you find and kill it?"

"As my Head of House would say, 'through sheer dumb luck'." he answered, not really keen on telling this part of the story to people, who could elate his already substantial fame even more. The last thing he needed was more attention.

"I found the entrance to the Chamber through coincidence and slew the snake."

Ainsley wasn't pleased with his answer and it showed quite clearly on his face. "Do you think me a fool Mr. Potter? I killed a Basilisk myself and I know you can't just simply 'slay' them."

Dumbledore gave him another nod, and he reluctantly elaborated. "I didn't do it without help. Dumbledores phoenix Fawkes blinded it, and gave me the chance to face it."

"That may help, but doesn't kill it! Basilisk hide is resistant enough to rule out all the tools an ordinary wizard has, so I ask again . How did you kill it?"

Pleasant conversation my ass, thought Harry thoroughly annoyed by the forceful interrogation. "With a sword. Through its mouth. Directly into its brain." he answered so curtly, that it could be taken as an insult. Next to him Fleur snorted and grinned at him. He wasn't the only one it seemed, who was annoyed by the man.

Dumbledore watched the dispute with interest, and knew Harry had won when the older man slumped back into his seat and laid his hands on the table.

Ainsley gave a suffering sigh before talking again. "I'm sorry for my deplorable behavior Mr. Potter, but your story stumped me. I've been in the business for over thirty years, and it took me twenty of them to find enough confidence, to face such a beast. How did you manage it?" he asked, but only received another shrug from Harry, who took the apology for what it was.

"As I said, I got lucky and didn't do it in a professional way, if there is one, but out of pure survival instinct." With those words Ainsley gave him a resigned look and quietly finished his dessert.

When the Headmaster saw, that nearly everyone had eaten their share, he rose again and with one single movement commanded once again the whole Halls attention.

"Now, that you have eaten and learned about each other it is time for our Champions to open the Yuletide ball with a first, traditional dance." With a clap of his hands, every plate vanished and Harry took this as the cue to move with Fleur on the prepared dance floor.

When the other two champions and their dates joined them, the music started to play he begun to move with Fleur, who looked absolutely ravishing in her deep blue dress made of satin. As was said, there probably wouldn't happen anything between them tonight, but a man could hope, right?

Fleur had seemingly read his thoughts, and laid her head on his shoulder. "Not tonight, but in a few years it might be very possible." she whispered huskily in his ear, and he had to really control his baser urges at that point.

They spent the rest of the first dance in peaceful silence, dancing around the floor like they had done nothing else for the last decade. Only after the second song started, did she speak again - this time while smirking.

"Now Harry, we both know what else you want to achieve tonight, so tell me... Any possible prospects?" she asked, and his own grin matched hers. She could be so devious!

He moved around, so that she could see the persons some feet behind him and blew lightly on her neck to get her full attention. "Cho Chang, Cedrics date." he whispered throatily in her ear, returning the favor.

"Oh? Why her?" She batted her eye-lashes in an exaggerated manner, and got a surprise when his hands sneaked further down and firmly gripped her ass. "Why? You want her for yourself you minx?"

Bloody hell, he thought, inwardly portraying nothing of the confidence he showed on the outside. Did he really just grab Fleur Delacours ass? Gryffindor hurray!

Fleur took it in stride and even seemed to be delighted by the challenge, if the sudden appearance of an unnerving fire in her eyes was anything to go by. Acting quickly, she grabbed his own, rather tight arse, if he could say so himself, and severally strengthened her grip.

"I wouldn't mind," she said, and his brain started to go into overdrive. "but at the moment I only want to understand your reasoning." The smirk she gave him between her words was truly Marauder worthy and her finger, that trailed down his chest didn't help either to remained cool-headed.

"Her family is heavily involved in oversee trading, and the Potters were always merchants themselves in the past." he explained, and she laughed as he swung her around. "I knew it!" she exclaimed rather loud, gathering some curious glances.

"And that?" asked Fleur, as she got full view of a girl with a rather large bust, and beautiful braided Pigtails. "That, is the project I will abandon tonight." he sighed.

"Susan Bones, her Aunt sat at our table." elaborated Harry, and pulled Fleur closer to him, until her breasts were firmly pressing into his chest. What a wondrous feeling.

"You're a pervert." Fleur remarked, and giggled when she saw his serious expression. "Of course I am, but about what?"

"Both! As if I didn't see how you imagined hot and sweaty sex, as soon as you laid eyes on her." Not bothering to hold up his serene face, he started to grin like a true pervert that knew his destiny.

"You have to admit, she has an incredible body for her age." he said diplomatically. Fleur didn't respond at first, using the time to throughouly massage his ass cheeks and give him one hell of a hickey on his neck. "Mhh, on that we can agree." she answered at last.

The Lady really wanted to test who had the most endurance, but two could play that game.

As the music became faster, his movements started to get more forcefully and erratic, heating up the dance floor. His personal highlights, which he would remember for a long time coming, were the moments when he pressed his head between her breasts, or started to grind his crotch into her pelvis. Actions, that were bold enough to truly surprise the normally unflappable Lady Delacour, but which she seemed to enjoy immensely, according the hardened Nippels he could see under her dress at least.

After the seventh song a commotion next to the entrance gathered their attention, distracting them from their game, that became more and more dangerous as time passed. Both started to laugh, as they spied Ron stuffed into a incredible hideous robe, that seemed to originated from some when around the 17th century. For a short moment he even felt sorry for his old friend. No one, not even Malfoy deserved such a humiliation.

The song ended, and Fleur pushed him several inches away from her. "Now Monsieur Potter..." she started, and the glow in her eyes intensified. "I know you still have a lot to do tonight, so I'm going to leave you for now. There are some people I deeply enjoy to annoy with my Aura."

"Go girl!" he said, and gave her a good natured slap on the ass, that made her squeal for a second. "See you around Harry." With those words she walked away, her hips swaying to the resuming music.

What a woman, he thought, as he looked around the Hall trying to locate Cho, whom to his great surprised sat alone at a table and watched Cedric dance with a girl he barely recognized as a 7th year.

Not wasting any time, he moved over to her and bowed in a courtly fashion to the depressed looking girl. Cedric truly was an idiot.

"Would you gift me the honor of a dance, Lady Chang? he asked in an over the top, knightly fashion and was delighted to hear her gentle giggle. The evening was great until now, but now it started to shape up even more.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 26. December**

Harry woke up with a headache, that could rival Voldemort-induced dreams any day of the week, and the first thing he noticed were the familiar confines of his sanctuary. But why was he sleeping on a mattress that practically oozed his magical signature? As he hadn't an immediate answer for that question, he looked around looking for clues and sucked in a sharp breath.

There, lying right next to him was a slim, but curvaceous body crowned with a mop of curly golden locks that concealed the face completely. He exhaled slowly and racked his brain, searching through his mind and comparing all the measures he had guessed from girls he found hot or interesting, but as soon as he found a pair that matched, he froze again.

Daphne? What the..., he thought incredulous, but didn't let his current confusion hinder him from mustering her delicious body and the way her tits moved every time she took a new breath.

He stood up, searching for his wand and found it lying haphazardly on the floor some feet away. One charm later and the chances that Daphne, with whom he obviously had one hell of a night, would wake were severally reduced.

Now, as he took his seat behind the desk, it was high time to remember what had happened in the last night.

He had danced to several songs with Cho and made interesting conversation with her - mainly over the high expectations her family had, and how she always helped them in their business during the summer holidays.

Afterwards... Afterwards he had excused himself and got back to Fleur, laughing about the stories she told of her annoyed peers, and flirting like the devil himself had possessed him. Was she sitting on his lap at one point? Oh yes, she was!

A lecherous grin tugged at his lips, but he remained focused and tried to remember more.

He wanted to get drinks at the bar and when he got back to the blond goddess, she informed him that they sadly had to cut the evening short, as one of her female friends needed her now. Some 'British pig' seemed to have hurt her badly and Fleur wanted to be there for her.

Why the hell did the image of a long white beard and the name Dumbledore just flew through his thoughts? Slowly, but surely his memory came back and with them returning also grew the headache that pounded against the boarders of his mind. He wanted badly to imagine that this were just some nerves transmitted inconsequential signals as pain, but that was a lot harder to do practically then it sounded in theory.

But with each memory his eyes widened until he stared unbelieving at the wall. He came to Dumbledore, whom he had seen, leaning against a wall and observing the ongoings with a smile, and he had offered him the drink he had originally brought for Fleur.

For a while they had talked about offensive wards, and which Harry was allowed to use in Hogwarts, but after some time, under the steady influence of even more alcohol, they started to discuss all possible matters.

Holy mother of Merlins sagging nuts. He got hammered with the Headmaster? And, more importantly, he had called him an old goat that would someday trip over his own beard?

Hopefully the Headmaster due to his age, had problems with remembering things after such an evening or he was screwed.

Dumbledore, the old goat, had left later on to get some sleep - the things he now knew about Madam Pomfrey would never let him look her in the eye again. Afterwards he had, for the simple purpose of banishing these thoughts, charged his completely over infused Gryffindor side and ploughed straight into a group of Slytherins near the bar to chat up Daphne Greengrass.

His leacherous grin returned, this time full blown, and the rest as they say was history.

Quickly putting on his jeans and forgoing his t-shirt and robes completely, he made his way out of the room and towards the kitchen. When he entered and saw the exhausted brigade of House elves that had made sure the ball would go on like a well oiled machine, he felt bad about what he wanted to do, but when they perked up as they saw him the thought flew out of the proverbial window.

These tiny and gentle creatures were truly one of a kind.

"What can Tipsy do, Harry Potter sir?" asked one of the small bugger, and already he could see excitement spread though the whole group of house elves.

"I need breakfast and coffee for two on a tablet if possible. Can you do that?" he asked, and nearly squealed like a little girl when Tipsy, adorable like she was, wagged her finger in front of his face and tried to look stern. "But youse bring back the tablet later, ok?"

"Of course!" he gave her a serious nod, but inwardly sniggered like a little first year on Firewhiskey. Was there still some remainder of the alcohol in his blood, or did the sex with Daphne make him giddy like that? His behavior seemed funny, but confusingly erratic to him.

When he got back to his room, he unloaded the tray on his desk and quickly transfigured one of the rickety old things into a respectable chair that would, with the bit of magic he had put in it, at least hold some hours. As he didn't know the spell for permanent chair-transfiguration, he had to work with the bit of knowledge he had.

Kneeling next to the gorgeous and more important, naked blonde he buried his head in her locks and nibbled on her ear until she slowly started to stir.

"Wakey, wakey sleepy head." he whispered and she groaned, looking up shortly before burying her head into the mattress again.

"I don't wa- Potter!?" Her head shot up, and for several seconds she looked with a lost and confused expression at him, until it gave way to a sultry smile. She seemed to be better in remembering, then he was.

"In the flesh." he answered and watched how she rose up, walking through his room completely unbothered by her nudity. It gave him ample time to muster her in a semi-sober state and he obviously felt great pleasure in observing how her greatly developed tits jiggled a tiny bit with each step she took and how enticing the trimmed blond triangle above her luscious second lips looked.

"Are you finished?" She stared at him with amusement, and he didn't even try to conceal the fact that he had looked at her. "I've organized breakfast." he answered after another minute of silent staring and led her to the table.

Unfortunately, she had put on his T-shirt as they ate in peaceful silence, each bathing in the afterglow of their glorious night. At least Harry hoped it had been as glorious for her, as it had been for him.

Daphne broke the silence, when they had finished eating and were each only nursing their cups of coffee. "Why did you even wear a T-shirt yesterday?" she asked, and he had to grin at her question. Was she really thinking that he would reveal some kind of weakness, like he absolutely hated the cold and felt unwell every time he had only his shorts beneath the robe?

Gryffindor had his glory yesterday, now it was time to let his Slytherin side out to play.

"Never know what insidious plan Malfoy thinks of next. Better be save then sorry." he answered, noticing how her lips quirked upwards. She took his response for what it was - a useless distraction.

"Malfoy will be furious either way." she said and leaned over the table, until they were nose to nose. "That we can agree on."

"Last question now, before you develop your new abilities too much and have to be resorted." He could feel her breath tickle him, as she came closer and closer. "Where are we?"

**Lemon !**

- More infos on my profile!

* * *

**AN: **Whey, thats it for today! But wait, I've still got a little nugget for those of you who are interested. As I thought about the presents and 'created' the dagger Sirius sent to Harry, I noticed that I've got next to nothing about the Goblins, and how I want their history to play out, should Harry one day stumble upon another goblin made artifact.

Thats why I wrote a brief history about the Goblins, so should the problem ever occur that I know how to proceed. As I said, for those of you who are interested, here it is:

**Goblin Culture**

In times, when humans still tended to live in caves, the Goblin nation was thriving under the Mountain ranges of Altai, located in central Asia, and carved their capital Olkreg directly into the hard and unforgiving stone.

The old culture was bases heavily on war and bloodshed, putting its faith in the old Goblin gods advertising cruelty and revenge. Over the centuries, several factions arose within the Goblin nation and due to bloody civil strife, the once great and mighty empire shattered, dividing the Goblins in many tribes, spreading all over the world.

Only during the early stages of Roma's ascension, did order rise once again and united the Goblins under the banner of Sekrad ul Thr'az, or Sekrad the Hammer as he was later called. The always growing empire of Rome was not content with their achievement, and the ancient wizards declared war on the newly reformed Goblin nation.

When Rome was forced to concede victory, did the Goblins have peace for a period that lasted two centuries. In this time, the two sons of Sekrad, who were immensely gifted in two different branches, build a Caste-system that prevailed till today.  
Irgath ul Thr'az, the elder brother, became the leader of the warrior caste and made Olkreg his feethdom, while Zorek ul Thr'az, the younger, formed the Merchant and Craft caste, and made the Lincolnshire Wolds his home.

Over time, the faith in the old Gods of Violence was abolished, and the believe in their Paragons settled in - the first beeing Sekrad ul Thr'az and his two sons.  
After the initial success of the first Gringotts bank in London, which was helped to build by Helga Hufflepuff, who strove for equality for all, the Goblins quickly formed several branches and expanded all over the world.

The secret of their language, Gobbledock, is fiercely guarded and only revealed to those outsiders, who have prooved their merit as warriors and crafters in trials issued by each of the two castes. Said chosen one's had, before they could ask for such trials, to undergo a ritual which would swear them to eternal secrecy.

Goblins often swear by their Paragons, depending on the situation.

"By Zorek!" is often used as an exclamation for great achievement in matters relating to crafting and merchandising.

"Hail the new Irgath!" is used after a Goblin won the bi-monthly tournament, deep down in the confines of Olkreg.


	5. Chapter 5

And here's the fifth chapter! I did this one pretty quickly, as most of the lore was already prewritten by me :P

**Snakefang93:** That is a matter, one could hold hours of discussion about ^_^ For my story, lets say that 'Blood-magic' is only classified as dark, if it is used in certain rituals and spells. I would put it in a borderline category, relying more on intent than regulation.

**redstickbonbon:** We'll see what happens with Harry on his long and dangerous path, but I don't think he will settle with 15.

**Magicks of the Arcane**

Chapter V

* * *

**Hogwarts - 29. December**

The crunching sound of Harrys boots could be heard as he wandered the snow covered Grounds of Hogwarts, deeply tucked into his woolen robe and with a steady smile on his lips. A long, red and gold colored scarf concealed the bottom half of his face, its end moving slightly with every surge of wind that blew through the winter air, making people who did not know the heating charm shiver in the cold.

It had been a while since he last walked alongside the lesser traveled path that led around the eastern border of the Forbidden Forest and finished at the shore of the Black Lake, but he took the time as he knew that it would be one of the last days he had to enjoy, before going back to 'work'.

He stopped for a short moment to inspect the gravures someone had carved into the wooden trunk of an old oak and brushed the remaining snow away to completely reveal a sentence. A loud snort escaped him, when he finally managed to decipher the words who seemed to have been written centuries ago.

'Lady Lauren, my love for thee runs endlessly!'

This was another fine point of the magnificent castle that called itself Hogwarts. It had been a sanctuary and home for witches and wizards for over a millennium, maybe even more as the actual date of her founding was never accurately reported. The constant images his brain sent him about one Draco Malfoy, who got slapped after showing this poor rhyme to the lady of his heart, made it really hard to contain his mirth.

He pulled his phoenix-feather wand out of its leathern sheath, a useful appendage of Hypolytos belt, and levitated some snow towards the trunk with a quickly murmured incantation.

"_Haeretere._" he added and this time with the motions of his wand increasing in complexity, the word was said in a clear and precise manner as the charm was rather unfamiliar to him.

Shall other people have the same fun I've had with discovering this nugget, he thought and stowed his wand while resuming his original path, snickering to himself all the way.

Some time went by, as the tree that had served him with such amusement slowly faded into unclarity on the horizon and he started to walk directly alongside the Forbidden Forest - which to his great surprise looked less foreboding completely covered in snow.

When he had walked for a while, enjoying the silence that was sparsely interrupted by some chirping birds, a sudden noise got his attention and he stopped mid-step to observe his surroundings.

There were no people to be seen far and wide, but as he was about to write the noise off as his imagination, it returned louder then before. With a wary expression on his face he stared into the forest and slowly pulled out his wand, going through every curse, charm and battle transfiguration he knew. Spells, of which the number had steadily increased over the last months.

The noise came closer and now that his senses were alert to the maximum, he could feel how the earth under his boots vibrated sligthly. His ears perked up when the noise he had heard, made itself out to be a plethora of different sounds.

Before he even had the time to contemplate the difference in them, he had to jump away.

A gigantic black shape had shot out from the brushery and as he landed on all fours, only one look was enough to identify the creature as a heavily wounded Acromantula with numerous arrow shafts poking out of its body.

A splendid idea as Harry thought and completely pumped with adrenaline he jabbed his wand towards the large Arachnoid, before making a wide sweeping arc in front of him.

"_Ardere Sagitto!_"

Dozens of arrows with their heads bathing in a violent orange fire appeared and instantly shot towards the overgrown spider. The pained shrieks as the arrows pierced its shell and set it ablaze were awful, and Harry cringed. It might have been an Acromantula, but that was a tad to painful of a death, even for them. Thoughts of Aragok found their way into his mind and he started to groan. Hagrid would be pretty pissed with him, once he knew about it.

"A good shot, Harry Potter." A strangely familiar voice said to his right and when he turned around, he came face to face with Firenze and half a dozen of centaurs. All of them equipped with different weaponry like spears and bows and crude leathern armors that were covering their upper bodies.

Harry only stared at them, but the question in his gaze was unmistakably. "We have hunted this estranged Acromantula for a while now as it was foreseen." Firenze answered and was met with an incredulous look.

"Foreseen?"

"The reddish hues of Mars shone bright yesterday and in compliance with the slower movements of Venus our seers have foretold that a lone Acromantula would cross our boarders today."

The situation became a bit too strange, even for Harrys standard and he racked his brain for a polite method of escape. He wasn't bad in Astronomy per se, but the whole explanation had gone right over his head and he could do without any strange influences that could take his focus on the tournament away.

"Well met Stargazer Firenze,-" he began and didn't notice amused look in Firenzes eyes. "-but I fear I have to take my leave, as the call of business still holds true."

He didn't wait for an answer and quickly sheathed his wand, that had hung limply from his fingers during the whole minute of their conversation. When he was finally out of sight and the centaurs crowded around the dead Acromantula, Firenze talked again. "The stars also told us that someone would lie to us today..."

For Harry, the whole experience had been surreal. Who the bloody hell expects an Acromantula to jump out of the bushes when only taking a walk... and that didn't take the crazy centaurs into the equation. At least his spell finished the creature rather quickly, if a bit brutal.

So immersed in his thoughts, Harry didn't even noticed when he left the boarders of the Forest in a quick stride and crossed the path that led from the train station to Hogwarts entrance.

Without notice, he walked around the Owlery and continued his path until he stood directly in front of the Black Lake that reached even further than the point, where the water and the sky met. Harry had intended this to be the last place on his hike through the Grounds, because he found the soft waves of the lake soothing, but after such an encounter there was no way he could be calmed by some measily water.

A loud splashing sound came from far to the left of him and his head swiveled in its direction. His gaze landed on the cause for the noise and his eyes nearly bugged out.

What the -

Viktor bloody Krum, international Quidditch champion, Karkaroffs butt-boy and all around a complete asshole, was diving into the Black Lake like a maniac on too much Firewhisky. Maybe that was some sort of survival training they had to absolve in the cold east, he asked himself and crouched on the ground to test the water temperature.

His left hand dipped into the freezing water of the lake and he quickly pulled it out again, while his right hand, equipped with a wand, was already in motion to apply a new heating charm.

No, he thought. Not even Karkaroff could be such an utter bastard and demand something like this from his students.

That left the question open as to why Krum was doing it. Was it an expression of his suicidal tendencies? A cry out to the world that said, please help me? For a moment he considered to join his father and godfather in their marauding ways and vanish Viktors clothes that were lying, neatly folded at that, on a nearby stone.

Why the heck not?

Harry vanished back into the shadow of the tree line that bordered on the shore and enshrouded by their darkness slinked slowly towards the large stone - sometimes jumping from cover to cover. There was no need for any kind of silencing charm as Vicky was still deep under the water and Harry waited with baited breath for him to emerge again and go for the next round.

The whole thing would be rather pointless if Krum decided that this was his last dive and momentarily Harry had the curious belief that his idea was incredibly stupid and dangerous, should he be discovered.

Viktor came back to upper side of the water and Harry wondered, if he had truly seen something akin to a shark head for a second. Something fishy was going on, he thought as he crept directly behind the stone, relieved by the view of Krum diving back into the water, wand in hand.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_." he whispered and flicked his own wand towards the pile of clothes, levitating them behind some bushes several feet away. With his mission accomplished he ran away, laughing and exhilarated by his success and only came to a stop when he had passed the Owlery and some curious looking students from Beauxbatons.

Completely out of breath, he leaned against the cold and soothing stone of Hogwarts and transfigured a simple pocket watch out of a pebble as the sun had begun to descend and he wanted to check the time.

He saw that he still had enough time to get a decent dinner in the kitchens without bothering about curfew, when an exhausted looking Dumbledore came walking towards him. Harry wondered why the headmasters wand was lying in his palm and pointed towards him, but chalked it up to some craziness from the older man.

"Harry my boy,-" the headmaster started and gasped for air. "-your movements in the last hour have been incredibly erratic." Now, that statement was certainly true, but what a way to spout random informations.

"I searched for you-" he said and took another deep breath. "-and even my highly modified _Point-Me_ spell has led me running all over the castle."

"I was talking a walk..." The look Dumbledore gave him really made his day.

"Anyway, why did you look for me?" he asked and inwardly chanted a mantra. _Please don't remember, please don't remember_! "I remembered some things about the evening of the Yuletide ball." _Fuck_.

The headmaster trailed off, but the famous twinkle blasted out of his eyes with full power. "I will have you know, that in the over fifty years in which my beard was the same length, I did not even once trip about it."

Harry could only look down, his neck crept with a flush. This kind of situation had the innate potential to be incredibly mortifying for a young student. "But don't worry, I'm not here to scold you." Dumbledore said and Harrys gaze snapped upwards. "Instead,-" the Headmaster continued not bothered. "- I am here to swear you to secrecy."

"You see, my ill-mannered affliction to the delectable brews filled with alcohol has been a well guarded secret for nearly over a century now and as people are already calling me an old goat-" he gave Harry a sly wink. "- it would be bad if they knew of it..."

Did his headmaster really just admit that he was an incurable binge drinker? What the effin hell... this day truly couldn't get any more weired.

"And as an incentive to guard my secret most viciously,-" he pulled something out if his robes. "- I'll give you this. Use it well!" With those words Dumbledore vanished into the castle and left a thoroughly bewildered Harry behind.

As he looked down, he saw a bottle of finest Firewhisky in his hands. The day couldn't get any more weired? He had spoken too soon...

* * *

**Hogwarts - 4. January**

The 4th January was a day like any other for most inhabitants of the castle and only for some over eager Ravenclaws did it symbolize the begin of the new term. For Harry it was the dreaded day, when he had to resume his studies in order to increase his chances of survival during the upcoming tasks.

That could come later in the day however, as he was currently pouring over another transfiguration tome in order to search for a spell that would create a beautiful perch for Hedwig, his faithful familiar. He turned the page and his green eyes narrowed behind the rectangular glasses.

'_Mutare Ramum Avibus - A spell used to permanently transfigure perches. Be aware, that the size, the material and the level of detail is depending on the used magical power and the casters experience with said spell. The wand motions are as following..._'

He quickly jotted down some notes and took a bite out of his sandwich, because like nearly every other time he was doing his research in the kitchen and wallowed in the benevolence of Hogwarts house elves.

"Bad bird! Youse shall not knock like that!" The cry of outrage coming from Smirmy, as he had learned to call her, broke him from his musings and he looked toward its cause - a brown barren owl that furiously hammered its beak against the closed window and demanded entrance.

"Don't worry Smirmy, thats for me." he said and walked towards the window, opening it and letting the owl into the kitchen. "If youse say so..." The little house elve remained skeptical and watched the avian with a cautious look in her eyes, but Harry continued unfazed and gave the owl five knuts he had pulled out of a pocket of his robe.

After taking the Daily Prophet and sending the owl off, he started to read and munched happily on the remaining sandwiches. Only to feel like some big chunk just got stuck in the wrong pipe. His green eyes narrowed, alight with fury and his hands cramped, crumpling the usually smooth edges of the paper.

_'... revealed that Rubeus Hagrid, Groundskeeper of Hogwarts is in fact a Half-Giant born from the unusual union between M.R. Hagrid and the giantess Friwulfa. Dear readers, we have to ask us the following: Do we really want someone like that near our most cherished possession - our children?_'

How dare that infernal ... ! Harrys anger was palpable and the dishes some house elves were currently washing, started to vibrate in their hands. Only when he heard the sound of breaking glass did he gather himself and turned around, looking into the frightened faces of many house elves. "I- Excuse me..." he stammered out and left the kitchen with quick strides. He would apologize to the elves as soon as he had regained his calm.

Thundering through the hallways like he would go into a battle with Voldemort any moment now, many people on his path jumped quickly away from him and gave him scared glances, but he couldn't care less at the moment.

He strode through the third corridor and disabled the various locking charms on the door to his room without loosing any speed. As soon as he had entered his sanctuary he whipped his wand around and re-applied several charms, before coming to a halt in front of his ward reinforced wall.

"_Incendio!_" he cried with such an earth shattering fury that it reverberated through the whole room. The spell reacted instantly and a gigantic stream of fire shot out of his wand, crashed against the wall and illuminated the place with a bright light. His own feelings on the woman were nothing against the fury he momentarily held on behalf of Hagrid.

Skeeter had crossed a line with her article that she should have left untouched, but now it was too late. Too late for her to retract it and beg for mercy. She would pay with her whole, insidious being.

A primal roar demanding retribution escaped him and he strengthen the already incredulously overpowered spell, letting wave after wave of fire thunder against the wall. After, what felt like hours in which his magic output hadn't lessened, did he regain some semblance of calm that vanished as quickly as it came when he took a look around him.

Half of his room was going up in flames, ignited by the fire that had unnoticed spilled from the corners of the warded wall. Was that a piece of _Vellum _he just saw, burning to ashes?

"Fuck!" he cursed loudly and started to weave his wand in intricate patterns, ending with a wide circle. He knew one single water spell and the only way it would be any kind of effective, was for it to be incredibly overpowered as well.

"_Agumenti scutum tholus!_" he cried out. No watery dome formed around him this time, as he lacked any of the finesse he used during the first task and torrents of water came crashing down on the place instead.

He hadn't taken into account how grossly miscalculated his output of magic had been and in a matter of two, maybe three seconds the whole room was filled to the brim with water - only a little bit of it seeping through the door sill, as the locking charm held the door forcefully in place.

It would be a miracle if he stayed out of the hospital wing this time.

He clumsily tried to rotate on the spot to face the door and his legs kicked something metallic away from him in the attempt. His wand rose towards the closed door and he heard some sort of angelic music coming from somewhere in the room, but he had no nerve for it at the moment.

Flicking his wand two times, the door burst open and the masses of water were finally able to escape, giving him back the often undervalued ability to breath. After taking some gulps of air he kicked the screeching golden Egg that lied next to him until it closed.

How incredibly dumb, he thought as he kneed on the floor like a doused poodle and pulled wet strands of his hair away from his eyes. The whole room, him included, was drenched and in shambles. On the side of his desk he could even see some charred places that were the results of his _Incendio_.

Mondays sucked royally.

He rose to his feet, still feeling a bit shaky, and did his next part on the way to glorious magical exhaustion. Circle, Jab, Two crossed Flicks, another Circle and a wide sweeping arc.

"_Assicco Fortis!_"The great drying charm did his work and soon the remnants of his flood were vanished at least.

Onwards then, he thought and started the next motions, swishing his wand several times through the air.

"_Reparo Fortis!_" The destroyed pieces of furniture were repairing themselves and a pile of ash was especially interesting as it turned slowly to wood and rebuild itself to a sturdy chair. Interesting for those who were able to see it - namely no one.

Harry had fallen backwards on the hard floor of Hogwarts and snored merrily away.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 8. January**

The last Potter sat on a large stone and looked over the gigantic Black Lake - the same large stone he had levitated Krums clothes away from. The sky was clearer then it had ever been during the last weeks and not a single snowflake flew through the air. A perfect place and setting for doing some thinking, or so Harry thought as he contemplated the ongoings in his life.

Yesterday he had finally cracked the infernal Egg through a bit of trickery and now he knew what the second task held in store for him. A snicker escaped him when he thought about yesterday, particularly the way how he had tailed Cedric, the greatest idiot of them all as he had started to call him after he ditched a beautiful girl like Cho for some unknown 7th year girl that didn't even look half as good.

It had been oh so easy to remain unnoticed with his fathers cloak, the map and the two charms that were quickly becoming his favorites. He had even bumped into him on accident as soon as he had heard the password for the Prefect bathroom and wanted to get away quickly, but Cedric the dumb-ass didn't even notice him then.

It was a truly luxurious bath that followed that night, when he was sure that no other prefect would grace the bathroom and for a moment he even wished for a yellow rubber duck to complete the incredible feeling. Alas, he had been there to work and listened to the mermish words that still rang in his mind today.

'_Come seek us where our voices sound,_

_We cannot sing above the ground,_

_And while you're searching ponder this;_

_We've taken what you'll sorely miss,_

_An hour long you'll have to look,_

_And to recover what we took,_

_But past an hour, the prospect's black,_

_Too late it's gone, it won't come back_.'

What an unbelievable simple clue... Somehow he had expected more from the fabled Triwizard tournament, at least in that department, but what the clue said, brought a whole slew of new problems with it.

First was the question of what, or whom they would take. He doubted that Dumbledore would import Sirius for this event, so what would they take? His Firebolt? If it was indeed a person they wanted to capture for the task, whom would be his, if not Sirius?

Fleur was a champion as well and could be ruled out quickly. Hermione and Ron haven't been his friends for months now and were also out of the equation. He considered that Dumbledore might be crazy enough to chain himself somewhere in the Black Lake, but the other Judges probably wouldn't allow it.

Daphne maybe? Could be possible, but how would they know about them? There was no one, not even the Headmaster who knew about the kind of relationship they both had started that faithful morning.

Leaving that matter aside, there was still the problem of breathing underwater. He was an adequate swimmer, but how the hell should he survive an hour without air? Knowing the wizarding world it involved something either incredible complex, or unbelievable disgusting - both, which weren't very appealing to him.

Then he had to consider the various inhabitants of the lake like Grindylows and the Merfolk. He would have to do some serious research until he was ready to defend against them, which brought him to the problem of using spells under water. Which could he even use without diminishing or deforming their effects?

On the topic of spells and deforming ... Skeeter still had her punishment coming and he was fervently looking for some way to make her pay. Thus far he had ruled out strong bodily harm even if it would be extremely satisfying, because it would presumably fall back on Hagrid and that wasn't his intention.

He needed something subtle, something worthy of a Slytherin. By the way, where the hell was Daphne? He knew that a relationship with her wasn't possible, or even wanted as they both still had three years until they were away from the overinflated bigotry of Hogwarts, but he had hoped for some more action after getting his first bite from the forbidden fruit.

His thoughts wandered into the deepest, darkest and most perverted parts of his mind and the winter cold did nothing to sooth the heat in his loins when he imagined randy sex with Da-

"Harry, here you are!" the overly cheerful voice of his headmaster penetrated his mind and brutally ripped him out of his wet dreams. Luckily, he wore wide robes today and his half-errected cock wasn't easy to notice under them.

"Headmaster?" he asked and saw, how the venerable Albus Dumbledore lowered himself to sit on a dirty stone - in a position that was almost as lazy as his own.

"A few days ago, a matter of grave importance has come up and I wanted your input on it." he answered with a serene smiled on his lips that could, dependant on the angle, also be interpreted as a sly smirk.

"Huh?" came his extraordinary and intelligent response that completely and utterly summed up his feelings on this alleged matter of grave importance.

Dumbledore however wasn't bothered by it and powered his twinkle a bit more. "Our esteemed caretaker, Mr. Filch and several students of all houses were under the impression that a sudden _tsunami_ occurred in the castle, flooding the complete third corridor." _Holy mother of ... _! That wasn't good.

Harry did his best to hide his guilt and faced the headmaster with a blank expression, completely intending to lie his way through everything. "They were told of course, that it was only a pipeline rupture - a usual defect in Hogwarts plumbing."

"And what does that have to-" Harry started and interrupted himself. "-Ah, screw it! I'm completely pants at lying." he said with his head hung low and slightly depressed about his non-existent abilities in the finer art of bullshitting. The headmaster acted in a purely Dumbledore-esque manner and started to laugh, before dropping a wise advice on his head.

"To acknowledge ones own weakness is the first step on a long road of betterment." he responded, chuckling with mirth and gave Harry a pat on the shoulder. "What interests me more is the cause for this _pipeline rupture_."

"I was angry at Skeeters article about Hagrid." Harry started to pout.

"And you drenched the corridor?" Dumbledores left eyebrow arched sceptically, obviously not believing that this was, what did indeed happened. "No, I nearly burned down _my_ room and had to douse the fire somehow..." he trailed off, somewhat embarrassed by his own actions.

"It was an overpowered _Scutum Tholus_?" The question was more of a statement and Harrys head snapped towards the older man. "H- How did you know?" he asked, slowly but surely becoming frightened by Dumbledores omniscient behavior.

"It is a little-known fact, that the magical power usually reserved for the finesse of that particular shield, channels itself into pure mass if overloaded." he explained and got a far-away look in his eyes. "I encountered said rare phenomenon on my travels true the desert of Kenia. There was a settlement of muggles that knew about magic, but were slowly dying from dehydration due to the unforgiving heat." His gaze landed on Harry and he gave him a small smile.

"Rather like yourself, I didn't trust in the power of a normal _Agumenti _charm and overpowered my water shield to such a degree that it nearly destroyed the whole village. The people were thankful nonetheless..." For minutes no one spoke and both wallowed in the comfortable silence of the moment.

"Professor,-" Harry began, interrupting the peaceful quiet. "- can I ask you a question?"

"Ask away, and I will do my best to answer you."

Now it was time to speak on a matter that could quickly turn around this nice moment and make it a rather dreaded memory. "I wondered for some years now, if you meant for me to face Voldemort at the end of my first year?"

It was a loaded question and for a second Harry saw guilt flicker in the eyes of his Headmaster. In the end, the man gave a sad sigh and looked at him. "If you ask me, if you were supposed to master the trials and find the Philosophers stone, then your answer is yes." he amended, but quickly rose his hands to ward off any kind of interruption.

"The trials were ment for you, but at no moment did I ever expect you to face Voldemort in this endeavor. Even towards the end, when I strongly suspected Quirrel, did I not even think about the possibility of Voldemort possessing the man. A great oversight on my part, I'm afraid."

Harry stared at him for a while, before asking his next question. "But why let me face Quirrel at all? Or the obstacles?" Dumbledore rubbed the bridge of his nose and replied in a honest, but guilty voice: "Excuse me please if my next words will sound awfully callous and cold to you, but a gem cannot be polished without friction, nor can a man grow without trials. I knew that Voldemort was still alive and that alone gave me enough incentive to try and prepare you with my underhanded measures."

"A practice I have abolished since the disaster of your first year..." The older man shook his head.

"And the Philosophers stone? It was the _real_ one, right?" Harry asked in the sudden need to finally clarify everything that had happened on that evening.

"Not one day goes by, Harry, when I'm not ridden with guilt over the death of Nicolas and his wive. Even Nicolas words on his deathbed could only slightly alleviate this feeling." he said and before Harry could even ask, he continued.

"For certain is death for the born and certain is birth for the dead; Therefore over the inevitable thou shouldst not grieve. Wiser words have never been spoken by any man, but they had hurt me more then I would care to admit."

Harry was surprised by the moment of weakness Dumbledore showed him, but was touched that the Headmaster had enough trust in him to reveal such informations. Again, there was a bout of silence that lasted for several minutes and was only broken, after the older man had regained some of his usual jovial nature.

"Now Harry, I need to ask you for a favor. Hagrid hasn't left his hut in days and together we might be able to convince him that sunlight is much better for his complexion." he said and jumped up with an agility that Harry hadn't expected from him.

Following the wizened man without complain, Harry thought about the conversation they had just led. Some points of it were difficult to swallow and it were especially the trials that irked him to no end, even if he could understand the angle, the Headmaster was working at. To toy so easily with his life infuriated him, but try as he might, he couldn't stay angry at the man who had to lead the incompetent wizarding world for over half a century.

Would he have done the same in his position? Maybe not, but a definite answer remained illusive as he wasn't really sure. They trecked through the snow crusted Grounds until they finally reached Hagrids hut and Dumbledore knocked three times at the door.

There was no response, but the bellowing of Fang who could be heard, pounding against the thick door made of scottish oak. "Hagrid!" Harry started to shout in order to get his large friends attention.

"If you don't open the door in five seconds, I'm going to transfigure myself a nifty stone warrior to break it down!" he continued and started to slowly count down from five. He was reasonably sure that the memory of his first task was still fresh in Hagrids mind.

When he reached four and the door opened, he saw dark rings under his eyes and a beard that was even more scraggy then usual. The anger about Skeeter rekindled itself again, but that wasn't important at the moment.

With one long step he reached the large man and threw his arms around him, attempting to hug his first friend for all he was worth. Unsurprisingly, tears started to leak out of the friendly beady eyes and the huge body was racked with sobs, but Harry held on, intent on showing Hagrid how much he truly appreciated him.

"You're an idiot if you believe a dumb cow like Skeeter will change my opinion of you for even one moment!" he muttered into the large west, made of different pelts. The Headmaster, who was watching the whole thing with a proud look on his face put his own Knuts to the argument: "Indeed Hagrid. As you can see there are still two people at least, who see you for the wonderful man you are." Hagrid gave them a watery smile and beckoned them into his cozy little hut, that held more comfort for Harry than a large manor ever could.

Later that evening, after the trio had spent hours on drinking tea and regaling each other with amusing tales, Harry excused himself and found once again refugee in his repaired sanctuary, reminiscing about the amazing stories that had been told. He smirked, when he remembered Dumbledores extremely loud belly laugh and Hagrids mortified face after Harry told the Headmaster about Norbert and the night they played '_Smuggling the Dragon_'.

A hoot interrupted his musings and a sudden smile reached from one side of his face to the other. Hedwig had returned!

"Hedwig!" Harry said excited and jumped from his chair to welcome his familiar. "Did you have a good flight?" he asked and started stroking her feathers, eliciting more joyful hoots from her.

"Look, I practiced a whole day only for you!" he explained to the interested looking owl and wove his wand through the air until it pointed at a simple piece of wood that lied on the floor.

"_Mutare Ramum Avibus!_"

The piece of wood slowly formed itself into a perch, which despite its simplistic style looked beautiful and well crafted. Hedwig flew a short victory round through the room until she landed on her new perch and gave him another happy hoot.

* * *

**Hogwarts 16. January**

Today was the day Sirius would firecall him, according to his reply at least. The man had been incredibly angry with him, understandably so, and it stood to reason that a letter starting with the words _Harry James Potter _was never a good one. He only noted that he wanted to clear the matter face to face with him and not through a _mangy_ letter. A most curious phrasing considering the man who wrote it.

Currently he sat in the library and did some personal research concerning the dagger from Sirius and the harp he had seen in Dumbledores office once. A good usage of his time as he found, after scouring the endless rows of books for hours, looking for something that would enable him to breath underwater.

He had come upon various ways to do so, but simply wasn't satisfied with the easily destroyed Bubblehead charm, or that disgusting bit of plant called Gillyweed. The answer became clear, after he had skimmed through a book on advanced charms and found an extremely improved and modified version of the Bubblehead charm that would coat his whole body in a complete layer of oxygen instead of only his head.

The fact that there were some other interesting protective charms working into it, sealed the deal for Harry. Hurray to Hogwarts library - superior to any other!

Now, only two books remained from the once great stack he had build on the table and hopefully they would hold the answers to his other questions. He grabbed the book on the top called '_Goblins - Their Paragons and the weapons they used_', and started to leaf through it, intent on finding something about the mysterious Sku'grad.

His eyes were alight with joy, when he finally found the name and he eagerly started to read.

'_Dagger of Sku'grad __- A goblin-made dagger, forged in the fires of Olkreg - the underground capital of the Goblin nation. Extremely durable and sharp, but without any imbued magic, as the goblins held true to their traditions as warriors._

_According to legends, the dagger once belonged to Sku'grad, the famed leader of the Goblin revolts 234 B.C. who, after his defeat, had to pay it as tribute to the Black family, as Auriges Caelum Black led the winning opposition._'

He wanted to read more, but as the clock hanging on the wall across told him, he only had about twenty minutes left before Sirius would call him, so he branded the important information into his mind and quickly made a grab for the last book.

Quickly looking through it, he found the passage he was looking for, but was disappointed to see that there was only a very small notice on the aesthetic harp he had seen in Dumbledores office.

'_Godsögnsvanir __- A legendary Harp, that is said to have immense magical power. Putting masses to sleep, cheering them up, or even killing them is possible if one knows how to play it_'

He closed the book and flicked his wand through the air, muttering several incantations under his breath until each book was magically flying through the air, returning itself to its resting place.

The cloak of his father was used once again after he had extinguished the light on his wand with a simple _Nox,_ and applied his favorite two charms. He moved fast, but silent through the dark hallways and made it to the empty common room with only seconds to spare.

"Harry!" a voice to his right caught his attention and he saw Sirius stern face in the fire. Kneeling in front of the fireplace he gave him a cheery wave. "Hey Sirius! Ho-"

"Do not 'Hey Sirius' me Harry! I'm bloody angry right now." the gaunt looking man said and Harry cringed. "Do you have any idea how worried I am right now? Lets get this on the road. I will properly scold you when we meet in person again."

"Like the itching powder on your reply wasn't enough..." Harry muttered, but was quickly interrupted by Sirius. "Don't talk back young man, you're in enough shit as it is!"

"Now tell me, what was the first task?" he asked and Harry scrambled to come up with a reasonable lie. "I-"

"Don't lie to me Harry. I can tell!" _Fuck_. Another idea down the drain.

"Dragons." Harry gave a a single word as answer and watched how Sirius expression cycled through shock, anger and relief.

"Dragons? By Morganas hardened Nipples! That's one hell of a task, but I will get the details once I arrive in -"

"No! You can scold me however much you want, but you will park your ass where ever the fuck you are and stay there!" Again, Sirius went through different emotions - anger being the one that prevailed.

"Who do you -" he started, but got interrupted again. "No discussion Sirius. If you come here, the probability of them catching you is so high it's laughable!" Harry answered nearly hysterical.

"Bu-"

"Fuck, no! Stay where you are, and more importantly stay safe. Dumbledore and I got everything covered." Sirius looked truly dejected after those words, but gave a short, defeated nod.

"Then let me at least give you a last advice before the call ends." he said, and Harry gave him a nod. "Be wary of Karkaroff! The man was a Deatheater and might have been the one to enter you."

Harry heard a crashing sound in the background and saw Sirius looking hastily over his right shoulder. "Good bye Harry, I've gotta go. The owner of the house just came back. Stay safe!" A second later his face vanished, leaving only orange tinted flames behind.

Now that the hasty led conversation was over, he felt guilt well up inside of him. How could he handle Sirius like that? The man had earned himself more then a simple 'welcome-back' hug, should they see each other again.

* * *

**Hogwarts 27. January**

"_Percutere!_" Moody's wand raced through the air and Parvati, like hit with an invisible fist, slumped down on the floor. The intense blue eye of his Professor swiveled around to locate the next victim, observing them all in the process.

"Weak. _Percutere!_" he growled out and Lavender fell from her seat, unspilled tears shining in her eyes. For Harry that was all he had to know about the rest of todays lesson. He would be a target soon and it seemed like the rest of the class had started to realize the same and scrambled out of the way, trying to find some sort of cover.

A second after he had jumped away from his chair, he saw how it suddenly combusted in flames and only had a moment, for his eyes to widen comically when it came hurling towards him as he was still in mid-jump.

Did Moody want to kill him? He could have done with a simple _percutere_, but a friggin burning chair with high velocity? The man was crazy and now Harry had to survive in the face of Moodys insanity.

He reached the ground again and instantly rolled away to avoid the firey projectile that simple followed him, to his great consternation. His right hand already hovered above his wandsheath and when the Professor started to bombard him with _Percutere _spells while the chair was still hunting him, he quickly drew it.

"_Aquapilatum. Aquapilatum._" His wand was in motion, adding one movement to the next in a truly endless chain as each _Percutere_ from Moody was met with the force of twenty liter of water.

The remaining students pressed themselves against the walls, partly in awe and partly in horror, as Moody and Harry took the impromptu duel a step further.

"_Reducto!_" Harry jumped out of the way, once again _flying_ through the air and quickly wove his wand in circular patterns. Dozens of Inkpots transfigured themselves into little rats and made their way to Moody, embedded with the command to gnaw on his wooden leg and make him fall.

The Professor snapped another _Reducto_ his way and swept his wand in a wide arc. "_Incendium orbus._" Every little rodent burned down with agonizing screeches and remained nothing but ashes on the cold floor of Hogwarts. Harry had already dived out of the way and the third _Reducto_ missed him by a hairs-length, completely obliterating a table in the process.

"_Protego._" The blue shield snapped into place, barely in time to deflect the two _Stupefys _that were aimed at him and he used the short breather to analyze his surroundings. There was nothing that could be used against Moody, he thought as another spell ricochet from his shield.

But if there wasn't something he could use, he simply had to create something. Dissolving his shield and quickly diving behind a table, he aimed his wand at window and casted a strong _Percutere _at it.

Moody's non-magical eye widened as he saw hundreds of little glass shards being banished towards him. Having a second to react at most, he made good use of it and snapped his wand through the air, summoning the remaining desks to build a wall of wood around him. It wasn't perfect and some single shards managed to reach him, slicing into his skin and drawing blood, but the majority of them embedded themselves into the desks.

"Thats enough Potter! I've made my point." he shouted behind his barricades and Harry started to relax a bit, lowering his wand, but still having it in his grasp should the Professor decide that he had relaxed too soon.

With loud noises the desks hit the floor and Moody's eye trained itself on the horrified students that were still cowering against the walls. He saw that some of them like Granger, Greengrass and Nott had erected some rudimentary shields to protect themselves and some of their friends, but most of them looked only frightened.

"_CONSTANT VIGILANCE_!" he roared and observed how they flinched away from him. "Potter has understood the lesson and gave you one hell of a show. Next time, you all better be prepared." Moody warned them and dismissed the class with a wave of his hand.

Scrambling towards the exit, most of them didn't notice the simple hexes he silently casted at each of them with a disappointed shake of his head.

For Harry the lesson was a reminder that he still had a question to ask his Headmaster. The short duel didn't leave him weak, but he could clearly feel the drain. Just, how much did it actually drain him?

His steadily increasing arsenal of spells was more of a boon than a problem, but how much could he actually use without landing himself in something akin to a coma?

It was the question of the day and like so often, when he had questions that needed answers, he made his way towards the Headmasters office hoping for enlightenment. A quick plea to the Gargoyle and the way was free.

Knocking on the wooden door and entering without hesitation when Dumbledores voice resounded from the other end, he now sat across the Headmaster and got stared at by plenty of portraits of which the inhabitants had awoken.

The old man said nothing, but obviously waited for him to explain his unexpected arrival in his office. The way of Dumbledore, Harry thought - fishing for answers with one single look.

"Professor-" Harry began, but hesitated. Was it alright to bother the man with each question he had? '_... so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin fer advice_' Hagrid had said on his very first day, spent in the magical world. Did he really want to become a second Fudge?

"Harry... You should know by now,-" Dumbledore gave him a serene look. "- that whatever the question, you are always welcome here. Without hesitation I might add."

Harry looked distinctively more happy with those words, but still felt a bit unsure and the Headmaster used the time the last Potter needed to gather himself. "Smarty?" he asked, and was rewarded with a popping sound to his left, which startled Fawkes as the beautiful phoenix had slumbered peacefully on his golden perch.

"What can Smarty to for you, Dumblydore sir?" The excitable, little house elf asked and was regarded with a fond look. His large ears were flopping with each of his movements and his eyes grew larger, when he saw the _mighty _Harry Potter sitting next to the wizened and highly accomplished Headmaster. "Would you be so nice, Smarty, to bring us two cups of tea from the kitchens?" he asked, and the elfs head bopped up and down so fast, Harry had trouble following it.

"Of course! Youse can trust Smarty, Dumblydore sir!" he said and vanished, leaving a amused duo behind. The Headmaster looked at Harry and sighed, when he saw that the young lad was still hesitant. Once again, the desire to brutally curse the Dursleys into oblivion reared its ugly head. He could blast those infernal fools, for what they have done with the young child. To ask questions was the most fundamental principle in the discovery of knowledge and they completely bereaved the boy, no - young man of his confidence to do so.

"Maybe it would be prudent for you to relax a bit, Harry." he said and sadly noticed how the lad tensed even more. It had been so easy to converse with him the last few times, but then again he wasn't seeking advice in these moments. What was it, that made him so hesitant when asking for help?

"Would you like to hear a story about one of the Artifacts in this room? You are after all taking interest in them and I could regale you with quite the tales about some of them until we talk about the original matter." The Headmaster offered, and finally saw a mixture between curiosity, need and confidence in Harrys eyes. "If it wouldn't be a bother sir?"

"Nonsense, you could never be a bother Harry and don't let anyone tell you otherwise!" he exclaimed. "Now, do you see anything you want to know about?" Dumbledore asked, but Harry needed no time for his decision. He saw something on one of his very first visits to the office and even after hours of research had found nothing.

"The _Flame of Ankou_." Dumbledores eyebrows rose and he took a look at the violet fire, contained in an orb of glass, that lied on a satin cushion. "I've search for some explanations, but found nothing..."

The Headmaster grinned at him like a little child that was about to share an incredible secret with you. "That you found nothing, isn't a miracle Harry. The records about this little orb and its history were sealed by the IWC."

"Do you want to hear about it?" he asked for confirmation and got a confused look from Harry. "But isn't it sealed, sir?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "I was the one to seal it, so I can tell whomever I want." Momentarily, Harry wondered if the Headmaster would stick his tongue out next.

"Before I can tell you about it however, I have to ask how much you know about Necromancy." Dumbledore said in such a matter of fact voice, as Harry did a doubletake. _Necromancy_? What the...

"Necromancy?" he asked incredulous and added quickly to it: "Nothing!"

"Then let me enlighten you." The older man started and Harry wondered if Dumbledore, the Paragon of light, would teach him one of the blackest magicks in existence now. "In this tale I frequently encountered Inferi - truly insidious abominations. Undeads, that could be crated out of corpses by a skilled Necromancer."

"And you fought them?" he asked excited. Now that was something that could come straight out of a horror movie. The pinnacle of evolution for each self-respecting teenager.

"Yes I did, but let us start the beginning hm?" Dumbledore said, and got an eager nod. "In 1968 a surge of sudden grave-robbings in France alerted the IWC that something strange was afoot. In an attempt to locate the cause, we've sent out many teams to investigate, but none of them came back alive and the only success we achieved was the knowledge that it centered on the west coast of France, mainly the Bretagne."

The Headmaster got a reminiscing expression and didn't even notice that Smarty the little elf had returned to put two cups of tea on the table. Harry gave him a nod in thanks, but quickly turned around again to his Headmaster - eager to listen to the older mans adventure.

"The situation became worse and in a desperate attempt, the IWC sent me to finally put a stop to this situation. I did my best, and after days finally found the cause for these disgusting besmirchments on the peoples last resting places." he recounted and put his palm on the orb of glass.

"_Avenall de Chandler_, a minor noble turned out to be a master of Necromancy and when it came to the inevitable duel between us, I had to fight tooth and nail to weather the masses of Inferi he threw at me." He led the cup to his lips and took a short sip. "As you can see, I am still alive. That at least, should clue you in on the fate of _Avenall de Chandler_."

"And the flame?" Harry asked confused. To hear about the Headmasters incredible life was all fine and dandy, not to forget very interesting, but at which point did the flame come into play?

"Now, for the explanation of the flame, I have to ask you to keep an open mind as we will leave the plane of basic magic theory and delve deep into the obscurity of myths and legends." he answered with a mysterious look on his face, that sent chills down Harrys spine.

"After I defeated _Avenalle_, an entity appeared in front of me, looking like a mixture of several local animals like bears, boars and different kind of birds. I have to admit, I was frightened and rightly so as the being introduced himself as _Ankou_ to me and gifted me with the contained fire, that you see on the shelf."

Harry didn't know, what he should think about that story. His aunt had been a lying cow, so he never really bought into the whole 'god' business, but in the magical world it might very well be possible that spiritual beings and such things existed. They do have ghosts after all, he thought.

"It sounds unbelievable, I know that as well Harry, but before I could ask _Ankou_ any questions it disappeared, leaving me a last advice." he said.

"A last advice?"

"An advice I still have branded into my mind, like it was yesterday he spoke to me. '_Unleash thy new flames on those who sought freedom from Deaths grip, should thi need ever rise again_' it had said to me and I already used the flames once, when Voldemort led an army of Inferi against Hogsmead."

If Harry wasn't interested enough before, now that Voldemort entered the field, his thirst for more knowledge about the mystical orb skyrocketed.

"As you can imagine, I was frantic in my search for any informations on _Ankou_ and when I finally found the answer, it was so incredible, but so unbelievable that it took me a long time to wrap my head around it." The Headmaster explained and stroked his beard.

"What was it?"

"_Ankou_ is a being sparsely recorded in french mythology, but from what I could gather... He is said to be a Demon of death, a peace keeper of the graves in the Bretagne." he paused and stared sternly at Harry, conveying the gravity of the situation. "Full of fear, of what could be done with such informations, or the flame itself, I sealed every record about it and secured the old scrolls that mentioned the being."

Harry gulped and Dumbledore continued. "I trust you Harry, that is why I told you the story behind the Flame, but I ask you to maintain absolute secrecy. No word about _Ankou_ shall ever leave this office."

Harry, whom had steadily relaxed throughout the story and was a good audience, gasping at all the right places, now felt the weight of Dumbledore's stare bore into him for minutes in which no word was spoken.

The pressure lifted suddenly and the Headmaster regained his jovial expression. "Now Harry, what was the original question you had?"

Harry gave a frustrated sigh. How to formulate it, without looking stupid? He had to ask the question now... It would be pretty bad from him to leave, when the the old goat had taken his time to regale him with an incredible tale.

"I wondered about magical reserves, sir... I can feel some drain and I know when I'm exhausted-" he tried to explain, his hands making weired gestures in an attempt to make himself understood. "Is there a way for me to know, how much a spell is draining me, or how often I can use certain spells?"

Dumbledore regarded him thoughtfully and vanished the cups that stood between them. "I understand -" Harrys head snapped up. "and I am most curious, how much I can actually teach you without straining the oath I gave as a Judge."

"At first you should kn-" he gave a pained gasp and shook his head, his hand grasping the part of his cloak, under which his heart resides. "The oath obviously doesn't like it..."

"Sir, are you alright?" Harry asked, fearful for the headmaster that still looked pained. "I am fine Harry, don't worry. It seems however, like I can only give you some clues as advice."

"Please don't hurt yourself, sir! I can search for it on my own." he said frantically, but Dumbledore hadn't lived for over a century with listening to others. "Mind. Control. We-Well con- Well concept!" the man grounded out and Harry felt physically ill when he saw the first tears of pain leak out of the Headmasters eyes.

"Sir!" he rose quickly and walked around the desk to aid his Headmaster, looking helplessly at Fawkes, who just observed the situation serenely. Dumbledore chuckled weakly. "I just need some time Harry and all will be fine."

He coughed and a curious look overcame him. "I do wonder how Maxime and Karkaroff are doing it... Maybe I was too naive in thinking they have taken the same oath as I." That was really a naive thought, but Harry didn't say it.

Harry took to his chair again and they sat in silence, with his mind easing a bit every minute that he saw the Headmaster regain his strength. After a while they resumed their talk, this time about some uninteresting, but amusing stories and he started to laugh loudly when Dumbledore told him about an old friend, he had left lying, completely drunk, in an orphanage in the slums of Edinburgh where children of all ages started to paint on him.

It had long become dark, when Harry finally rose from his seat and excused himself to get to his bed.

Charms reapplied and after some furious curses, because he had forgotten his cloak, he made his way through the dark hallways.

Noticing nothing out of the ordinary he walked alongside the third corridor, when suddenly a hand grabbed him and pulled him behind a suit of armor. His first defensive reflexes were quickly suppressed, when he saw that it was Daphne that had surprised him.

And boy, did she look great this night.

"Hello Potter." she whispered huskily and licked his earlobe...

* * *

**Hogwarts 4. February**

Why did research always have to be so tedious? It was a question that burned in his mind as he sat before a large book about creatures that lived in british waters. He had already made a list of the possible encounters he could face in the Black Lake and it looked bleak for him as many of these beings were either dangerous through pure intent, or dangerous even if they meant him no harm.

He read his notes again, trying to come up with possible ways to counter his problems, but didn't feel any more reassured after leafing through it.

'_British Grindylows__ - little creatures with a pale, green complexion that live in the weed beds of british lakes. Equipped with long, spindly fingers they grab their prey to either bite them with their extraordinarily sharp teeth, or spear them with the horns on their head._

_Merfolk__ - Beings that appear to be an odd mixture between fish and human, with graying skin and dark green hair. They have their own society structures, are formally registered by the Ministry and use their own language, called Mermish._

_They are said to be usually gentle, but vicious in their fury, which is aroused by heavy provocations, or the theft of their treasures. Their most precious items are their musical harps, and their weaponry._

_Plimpies__ - Piscem Crassos, or Plimpies as they are also called, are ball-shaped creatures with two extremely long legs. Being considered a delicacy, they are often used in cooking, but are very expensive because of the dangers one has to face, while catching them._

_They use their long legs to strangle and choke unsuspecting prey, which unfortunately includes humans._

_Shrakes__ - Shrakes are medium sized fishes equipped with many spines protruding from their body. They have no intentions of harming humans, but are dangerous nonetheless as their sense of orientation is extremely bad and they rely on their spines to stay out of trouble._

_It has happened to many tourists, visiting magical beaches, that a Shrake unintentionally bumped into them and gave them some slice wounds from their spines._

_Piscibus conspuo__ - A slim and vicious creature with enhanced magical abilities to quickly recreate its bones, as it spits them in great amount on his victims, which include humans. Lured by the smell of blood, they appear in large swarms and their projectiles are sharp and hooked, making it difficult to just pull them out of the body._'

Maybe it was in his best interests to abandon his research for the day as it didn't yield any results anyway at the moment. He sighed and stowed the parchment away, before making his way to his bed.

Hopefully, tomorrow would be a better day.

* * *

There we are and its getting hot now! Next chapter will be the 2nd task.

For those of you who wonder, why Harry can only use the _Incendio_ without incantation, but suddenly starts to transfigure some things silently:

I divide Transfiguration in 3 main branches, being standard Transfiguration, permanent Transfiguration and Conjuration.

The standard adheres to the principles of non-living to non-living, non-living to living, living to non-living and living to living. Those spells are used without incantations and through sheer will of mind.

Permanent Transfiguration branches out in Battle-Transf. and Normal, both needing an incantation. Because one cannot create life out of nothing, both are restricted to non-living - non-living.

Conjuration is divided into permanent and time-restricted, and done without incantations. There is in fact nothing like permanent conjuration, but wizards with extraordinary powers can create items that last from decades to centuries. This branch is also restricted to non-living.


	6. Chapter 6

And the next chapter! The second task awaits!

**Peeve's best friend**: I wrote the part of the ball under the assumption that only the first half of it was a traditional Gala. The book mentioned the Weird Sisters that played for the rest of the evening. I haven't mentioned that and I'm sorry for any confusion it might have caused.

**RogueNya**: Alcohol can make us humans do funny things :P I've had personal experiences with black outs on the morning after a party and I can safely say that it sometimes took me over an hour to remember everything that had happened. In this part of the story I work with the thought in mind, that Daphne was as smashed as Harry and quickly consented. As I said, alcohol makes us crazy sometimes.

**Guest & stormrune**: I can see how some would find the lack of his reserves annoying, but please keep in mind that I want to keep some semblance of reality to his powers. And while the spells he uses are advanced and will continue to become even more advanced, he still is only a fourth year. Every bit of knowledge and skill he gets, will be earned through research and hard work. There will be absolutely no sudden potion, ritual or magical inheritance that gives him the power to rival Merlin. As he grows, his reserves grow and his control over them increases, but he won't get super powers directly from the start of my FF. The sentient library and Dumbledore as a mentor alone gives him an incredible advantage.

Magical maturity might play a minor role in some years, but that is far away and even then it will only be slight increase and some specializations.

To calm everyone: I've got the story roughly mapped out until the infernal tosser Voldemort is obliterated, and a fine draft for the fourth year and the following summer. So no sweat, I intend to continue this story :P

**Magicks of the Arcane  
**

Chapter VI

* * *

**Hogwarts 11. February**

Completely at ease, Harry sat on one of the many stone benches that littered the Courtyard in front of the Clock tower and enjoyed the rays of sun that shone from the cloudless sky, warming him and anyone else who was out and about. Piles of snow were already molten to small puddles and if it wasn't for the chilly breeze that sometimes swept through the yard, nothing would indicate that it still had been deep winter a week ago.

While the birds were starting a new symphony with their soothing chirps, Hedwig had perched on his shoulder and she too enjoyed the peaceful atmosphere that seemed to have settled all over the castle. A heavy and ancient looking tome lied open on his lap, its pages old and brittle, but Harry was not bothered by the apparent age of the book and his eyes devoured the information it provided him with a dedication he wouldn't have thought possible only months ago.

_'Legends state, that the Merfolk was one of the first cultured group of beings that graced the earth with their presence - long before humankind started to evolve and when the Goblin nation was still at the early stages of their ascension. We do not know how they came to exist, but some scholars hold the belief that an ancient form of magic selectively started to mutate various sub aqueous beings, forming them into what we call Merpeople today._

_While reasonable and certainly possible, there is no evidence to support that claim and many magical scientists argue constantly about their origins._

_It is not known how or why they have split into hundreds of different tribes, erecting colonies all over the world, but we do know that these independent groups vary vastly in their beliefs, opinions and actions concerning humans. Most colonies are build around large monuments that display figures with a close resemblance to the Merfolk. Scholars are undecided, if these are their gods, their paragons or something else entirely._

_The political stands of the tribes vary from peaceful to downright aggressive, serving as an indicator that there is no sort of government to rule or reign them in. The tribe living in the waters of the Black Lake is the most studied and understood one, as the few people who have learned to speak mermish held long conversations with them and discovered a lot about their culture._

_Sul'adan, as they have called the city deep down in the murky waters of the lake, is build around the statue of a harp playing Mer-man: A being that we humans believe to be Persos, founder and first chieftain of Sul'adan._

_...'_

Closing the book carefully, he stretched his legs and looked around the Courtyard, taking his time to observe the lively game of Gobstones some first year Hufflepuffs were playing under the columns wrought with ivy to his right.

"Now I've got you!" screamed one of them in joy, but his adversary had only eyes for the chalk circle and the arrangement of their marbles. The boy furrowed his brow and walked around the designated playing field, trying to find an angle he could work at and when he finally found it, his face too lit up with happiness.

Harry chuckled as he noticed how the boy regained his footing and afterwards ended the game with a decisive victory. How long had it been, since he had played an innocent game of Gobstones? Too long... and he feared that the time would only prolong with each larger-then-life Gobstone the fates put into his way.

Some fifth year Ravenclaws walked by, but he remained unnoticed by them. _Corpora Abditum, _the simple notice-me-not charm that would somewhat conceal the presence of a person. He had found it in a standard charms book for sixth years and since then had the advantage of walking around without bothering to always take his fathers cloak with him.

The Ravenclaws, two boys and three girls, came to halt a few feet to his left and unashamed Harry listened into their conversation. He wondered what the fabled rumor mill of Hogwarts had to report.

"Ruddy Git! I can't believe he docked points for that..." said one of the boys with venom in his voice.

"Calm down David. There's nothing we can do about it." A girl with curly brown locks said and laid her hands soothingly on his shoulders. "We already know that he's an ass."

"But. But the answer was right!" he replied and Harry nearly started to pity him. It was obviously Snape they were talking about.

The boy to Davids right snorted. "As if he cares. The man likes no one but his precious Slytherins. I swear, Alphard Higgens gets more annoying by the day."

"Higgens is a wanker man, you shouldn't listen to him. With all the crap he sprouts, I could paint our common room brown." That comment was quickly rewarded with a warning slap to the boys shoulder.

"We should tell Professor Flitwick. He will have to do something!" said a rather rotund looking girl with vehemence.

"And then what? The Gryff's complain all the time, have done so for years and McGonagall never did anything." David shook his head in disappointment.

"He's right... Why would it be different for us?" asked one of the girls and turned around to one of her friends. "What's your take on this bullshit, Melanie?"

The girl in question had crossed her arms under her ample chest, pushing it upwards quite deliciously and without any kind of remorse Harry leered at it. How glorious those breasts would be!

"Right or wrong aside, have you noticed that the bat became increasingly erratic since two weeks ago?" She asked the group and adopted a thinking position. For a short moment Harry abandoned his perverted gaze and thought about the time she was talking about. Whoops! That was around the time his stone bird failed to assassinate the git...

"What the hell could have made his bad mood even worse?"

"Ye, I always thought it couldn't go any lower then it already was."

Finally calmed, David shrugged his shoulders. "Well, my bet's on Gryffindor. Either the Weasley twins or Potter."

"Definitely Potter! Snapes anger towards him his legendary." Too true, thought Harry. Someday the ruddy bat would get what's coming to him.

"Poor Harry... He has it hard enough without Snape breathing down his neck." said Melanie and Harrys dirty grin returned with full force. He would have to be careful not to evolve into some sort of man whore, but the thought of bending that girl over the suddenly oh so inviting looking stone bench...

"Anyway," David sighed. "we still have to look up some things for our History essays."

"Bloody Binns..."

A minute later the group had left and let Harry ponder on his thoughts. Man, that Melanie looked hot, at least he thought about it until the beautiful vision of Fleur Delacour walked into the yard, nearly stiffening him with her sex appeal.

The girl walked only a few feet before she suddenly stopped and took a curious look around her, seemingly feeling that something was amiss. Harry grinned and wondered if Fleur would find him, but was disabused of any doubts only seconds later when a wave of her allure crashed into him.

A smirk appeared on her face and with confident strides she moved towards him, not bothered by the poor first years that probably had their first stiff ones about now. Whatever she had done... it was devious, he decided.

With a fluid motion she sat down next to him and trailed her fingers over his leg.

"Oh Harry, do you really need to perv on all the unsuspecting victims?" she asked and quirked her lips into a smile.

"If not me, who else? Who could share that terrible burden with me?"

Fleur arched her eyebrows. "Honestly? There are dozens of closet-perverts in the castle!"

"But whom could I trust with a burden as hard and stiff as mine?" he asked with a serious face and the Veela descended into laughter that, if he was inclined to wax poetically, rang like bells on an autumn night.

He hadn't seen Fleur for some days, but the time he spent with her during the Yule ball had been truly enjoyable. That woman had fire!

"Well," she began and her fingers wandered up and down on his tight. "I've heard some rumors..."

"Oh?"

"They say you crashed into some Slytherin?"

His expression changed to serious instantly and he regarded her with a piercing gaze that sent shivers down her spine. "And where have you heard ..." His eyes gained in intensity. " those _rumors_?"

"Calm down Harry, I know the reasons you want to keep this under wraps." she said, but his stare remained unchanged. "I've already sworn the few students from Beauxbatons that saw you to secrecy and the Slytherins were drunk beyond belief that night."

He exhaled slowly and dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Thanks Fleur. Being a champion is a hassle, huh?"

"A hassle? For you maybe, but don't forget that I wanted this."

"True enough. You know, I had to do something. You left me with an awful overflow of testosterone coursing through my body."

"_Moi_?" asked Fleur. "It was your head pressed between my breasts that night!"

"And what a glorious feeling it was." The resulting shove he got from her nearly made him fall of the bench. "Don't do that, woman!" he gasped out after regaining his balance.

After a minute in which Fleur had tried to reign in her giggles, Harry got a sly grin on his face and turned around completely to the unsuspecting Veela. He took her hands in his own and lowered his voice a few octaves.

"Fleur Delacour, Seductress of the masses, do you want to have some fun?"

Her eyes started to shine with mirth and she seemed to enjoy the title Seductress. "That depends on the kind of fun you had in mind Harry Potter, the one exalted among men."

"Why," he leaned towards her and whispered into her ear. "to accompany my glorious self to Hogsmead of course!"

His tongue darted out of his mouth and gave her earlobe a quick lick, before retreating. He thoroughly enjoyed the short lived expression of confusion on Fleurs angelic face, but also became rather worried when it changed into a sultry one and he saw the determined glint in her eyes.

Maybe, just maybe he had been a fool to propose that challenge.

"You have yourself a deal _Monsieur_ Potter." she grinned impishly.

* * *

**Hogwarts 13. February**

The visit to Hogsmead was a great experience for Harry and the delectable Fleur Delacour made it all the better. He could count on one hand the amount of people with whom he had as much fun as with her and the mischievous nature, as well as the seductive qualities that seemed to be gifted to Veelas, made it a memory he wouldn't want to miss for the world.

They had walked through the alleys of the homely looking settlement and visited several stores as they talked about matters that were either amusing or made him sweat under his collar due to their dangerous, but appealing nature. She was an incredible haggler as well, as he noticed when they had set foot into a store called _Aurums Apothecary_.

He originally wanted to visit the business to get some potions he could clip at his fabulous belt, but was quickly brought down when the owner started to name price after price. 'For all the potions you want to buy, I have to get fifty Galleons at least!' the man had said in a sly manner and Harry was on the verge of forking the money over, when Fleur started to speak.

'Fifty Galleons? You think you can swindle us? I can buy the ingredients for a third of that price and brew the potions on my own!'

With those words the struggle started and it took nearly half an hour until they walked out of the shop, leaving a thoroughly distraught owner behind.

Her anger had been frightening, even if she had assured him later on that it was faked and the potions did indeed cost fifty Galleons normally. Well, she got them for him for the measly price of thirty-five. Who was he to complain?

The day ended on an even more positive note, when he emptied his pockets and found satin-blue panties in them. Had Fleur been going commando for a while, or heaven forbid... the whole time?

He shook his head an grinned stupidly while thinking about the minx. The game of seduction they were playing was truly refreshing.

* * *

**Hogwarts 15. February**

Harry was on the verge of surrendering and played with the thought to magick himself a white flag, signaling the library his submission. For hours he had already searched, looking through shelve after shelve filled with books and still, there was no sign to be seen that even remotely pointed towards the well-concept Dumbledore had spoken of.

Hours!

For Merlins sake he was so close to jump up and set the whole place in flames! A good, overpowered _Incendio_ would do the job as he had seen only some weeks ago. But no, he couldn't destroy the library... The Ravenclaws, led by his former friend Hermione would hunt him until the end of time if he did.

Had Dumbledore lied to him?

No, that couldn't be it either. The old goat had nearly risked a cardiac arrest just to say some simple words on the matter and that meant the concept existed. But where could he find something about it?

His fist crashed onto the wooden table in front of him and it earned him several reproving glares from the local inhabitants of the area that called itself Hogwarts library. Furiously he rose from his seat and started to pace alongside the great walls of knowledge.

There had to be something!

He knew Dumbledore hadn't given him a dud, so where was the fabled well-concept? Every tome he looked through about magical theory had held no informations about it, but where else was he supposed to look?

Waffling, Arsenias, Droppels... All these idiots babbled away in their books, but not one even mentioned that the concept existed. The old man had mentioned the words mind and focus, but Occlumency and Legilimency were branches of magic he knew his own mind wouldn't be able to endure at the moment. Everything he had read about these practices warned that it could be fatal if one tried to learn them before the fifteenth cycle of their life.

Meaning: The concept wasn't a branch of either of the two. Dumbledore wouldn't have told him if it meant harm to him. At least he hoped so.

He leaned his head against the soothing walls of Hogwarts and his mind was furiously at work, coming up with possible ideas where he could look.

Had he looked at it from the wrong angle? Maybe the concept wasn't mentioned, because it was nearly unknown?

But then, how had the Headmaster known? Well, he had to admit that was a stupid question. The man was Albus Dumbledore...

Perhaps...

Magical theories were normally pretty old, predating Hogwarts founding by centuries. It stood to reason that the old goat wasn't the one to invent it. But who might have told him? He worked through the few friends he knew his Headmaster had and his search came to one single name.

Nicolas Flamel.

Informations about the man had helped him once already, back during his first year. Who was to say it couldn't be the same again? Back then he hadn't found many things about the famed alchemist, but if the library truly was sentient...

There was a chance that it would deem him worthy to find more about the legend. it had taken another five hours and the library had been vacated by everyone but him. Even the stern Madam Pince had already left, before he found what he looked for.

In a book that was so unassuming he had nearly passed it over nonetheless! It was small notebook with yellowed pages that looked more like a diary then a book about magical theories.

Eagerly he went back to his desk and started to engross himself in the little compilation of knowledge that had been left by a man who lived up to six-hundred and fifty-eight years.

'_**Well-concept for the proportioning of your magicks - by Nicolas Flamel**_

_The well-concept is a theory that had been invented by Darian Restus, a famous healer that lived through ancient Roman times and was worldwide known for his ability to treat dozens of patients in the course of a single day. His services were often employed during, or directly afterwards large-scale battles and according to several preserved manuscripts he did his duty well._

_"Mages from every known corner of the world hounded me, seeking for advice, wanting to know my secret to success. But I could not. For the very thought of my idea falling into wrong hands made me retch with fright. What dastardly terrors could Romas numerous enemies bring over us, should they ever get hold of it?"_

_And indeed it was true. The masses thought that he had undergone several rituals to enhance his powers, but there was nothing further from the truth. The entirety of his secret referred not to a sudden boost in power, but to the mastery of ones control over magic._

_In a desperate attempt to hide it, he wrote it down and warded it so heavily that even the most experienced Cursebreaker would need years to open the scroll. Later on he buried the scroll in one of the many Gaulish forests, hopefully never to be found again, and obliviated himself of any and all knowledge about it._

_After three hundred years of living, I stumbled upon this priceless artifact while studying the lives of several Gallic Druids with my wife. It took a long time, but immortality had gifted me time over all else and so I broke the wards protecting the scroll after twenty years of arduous research._

_..._

_The secrets the scroll revealed to me were fascinating and made me look at my magic from an angle I had never even considered before. The name well-concept or Puteus Ideum as Darian had called it was an apt one, at least to my discretion of it._

_Even in my time, the prevailing theory many scholars believed in was that our magic is being governed by our magical core. A theory that still holds true, but can be applied in very different ways. _

_Restus regarded his core as a magical well and the water that filled it were his reserves. In possession of a keen mind he visualized it and added marks to it, in the attempt to gauge the output his spells had._

_What followed was a rigorous training that enabled him to lower his spent reserves through a combination of precision and skill. At the moment that he knew how much magic his spells wasted on a daily basis, he improved his control over them to a degree that even now seems impossible to reach for me._

_It made it possible for him to preserve his magic and use it for more spells before the water in his well ran out._

_..._

_I emulated his training methods and got startling results! Each step in it was always accompanied by the regular checks on my 'well' to see how much I wasted, but after several years I finally managed to stave off every bit of excess that would be lost otherwise._'

Only when the first rays of sun touched upon his nose did Harry look up, startled by the amount of time that had gone by while he was reading through the history and training methods Flamel went through.

After reading such a book... He simply had no choice but to give his very best in his own attempt of mastering his magic.

Determination settled in.

* * *

**Hogwarts 24. February**

"Today, ladies and gentlemen, we've prepared an extraordinary feat for you!"

The loud voice of Ludo Bagman rang through the air, being heard by anyone in the vicinity. He looked excited and giddy, obviously having high expectations for the second task. "In the first task, our four champions were forced to steal a golden Egg from a nesting mother dragon and each of them managed it through either creativity, trickery or brute force... Now, that February is nearly at its end we have reconvened - this time at the shore of the Black Lake, where each champion has to test his mettle once again!"

The croad roared in zealous and fanatical anticipation for the event.

Harry and the other champions were still covered by their cloaks, everyone of them waiting to the last possible minute before having to shrug it off and face the freezing cold. This time he was a bit more assured in his abilities as a wizard then during the first task and it showed in his confident and graceful posture. His gaze rove over the various bleachers and he noticed a plethora of important people gathered in one of them, looking vastly more comfortable then the others. The Bulgarian and French he could easily understand, but why were the minster from Norway, Denmark and Sweden in attendance?

The already festering urge to blast Fudge into oblivion rose quickly, when he saw the man accidentally bump into foreign dignitaries on the search for his bowler hat. Harry had seen how the hat got blown away by the unusual strong wind that became more forceful by the minute and he pulled the cloak closer around him.

"Nervous Harry?" asked Fleur and he turned to the left, facing the beautiful Veela with a smile.

"Nervous? Not particularly, but I am curious to see whom I will sorely miss."

"I fear that I know who it is for me-" she said fiercely and stared with narrowed eyes on the lake. "-and I swear by Merlin and Morgana, if these creatures have harmed her, they will regret it!" Harry sucked in a sharp breath. "Gabrielle?"

"She is the one I would miss the most."

The second task became a death trap already and it hadn't even started, he thought and clenched his fists. He knew, how much her little sister meant to Fleur and if they really harmed the hostages, he himself would wage a terrible war against them. Under normal circumstances he would never entertain the thought of Dumbledore putting innocents in possibly lethal situations, but with so many different organizer and judges his hands might have been bound by the sheer political pressure.

Harrys resolve strengthened.

Already, the hollering crowd was vying for blood, degenerated to heed its baser urges like the common folk in ancient rome - and like the gladiators of old, the four of them would satisfy the populace thirst for violence, leaving chaos, destruction and death in their wake. He tried to resist it, but was all too easily swayed by the rowdy atmosphere and swore himself that it would not be his blood, coloring the lake in red today.

"... I hope our champions are ready, because in two minutes the gong will sound and their hour begins."

Bagmans announcement was met with roaring approval, but Harry was already blending him out again and his gaze swept over the filled bleachers once more. Daphne and even Lady Broadmoor were there, but whom had Dumbledore taken down into the lake?

A deafening sound echoed over the water and like the other three champions he quickly threw his cloak aside, leaving him in a red and gold colored bathing suit. The waterproofed belt of Hypolytos was fastened onto his hip, equipped with his wand and a single vial of lime green potion. A simple sheath secured the long and vicious looking Dagger of Sku'grad on his left leg and he was sure that he could draw it fast enough, should the need arise. His shoulder length hair was tied together by a leathern band and his glasses had been charmed by him, hours ago.

"There is the gong! Let us see, how the champions will brave the Black Lake!" shouted Bagman with vigour.

Krum had already vanished, but he saw how Cedric and Fleur used the bubble-head charm, quickly jumping into the cold water afterwards. Harry took his holly wand out and wove it in intricate patterns around his body.

"_Aeres Cinctum Somatis!_"

A small light emitted from him momentarily, but soon enough the layer of oxygen enclosed around his body, making it possible for him to breath under the murky water. He pulled the stopper out of the vial he had on his belt and downed the disgusting, but useful potion.

Heat surged through his body and he was glad that the potion had successfully done its job and would keep him warm during the task. A mighty leap later, the crowed saw him dunk head-first into the lake and many spectators made sure to calibrate the little orbs that had been given out at the beginning correctly. It would, depending on the settings, show the champions advancement through the lake - rather like a muggle live reportage.

"And of goes Pot-" were the last words Harry heard, before his body met the water with a loud splash and he quickly dove deeper into the treacherous Black Lake. He took a look around the area, but saw no immediate threat and drew his wand out of its sheath.

"_Monstrate Locus Ad Paragon._"

His magic reacted instantly after he incanted the advanced location spell and he concentrated hard on the image of Persos monument - the statue of Sul'adans apparent founder. He had only glossed about the magical theory concerning this spell, happy that he had found something at last and thus had no idea how it was supposed to work, but that oversight corrected itself quickly as he suddenly became _aware_. Something clicked into place in his mind and without being able to explain it, he knew which way he had to take to arrive in Sul'adan; colony of the British Merfolk.

He vowed to read up and actually understand the science behind the spell someday. His faithful holly wand was in motion once again, its movements short and precise. Hopefully his next bout of magic would work like intended, because if it did... it would be a truly ingenious idea and he doubted that any other champion had thought of it.

"_Venti flamini!_" he cried out, thankful that the small layer of oxygen around his head and body made proper speech possible.

A wicked smirk appeared on his face and the green eyes shone with unholy glee. It worked!

Crushing forces of air spew forth from the tip of is wand and propelled him at unbelievable speed into the mysterious and dangerous depth of the Black Lake. What a truly wonderful spell, he thought amused as the water became darker by the second and he saw rocky constellations and beds of sea weed flowing past him. It was an underrated spell, that much he was assured of and he was glad that Mr. Weasley had mentioned it during the Quidditch world-cup, when he kept the campfire going with it. Hours of experimenting with it led him to one single conclusion in the end: there was no finesse behind that spell. In a nutshell that meant, the greater the power behind it, the bigger its effect would be.

He came to a stop when the spell had to be recast again and never noticed the impeding danger, still immersed in his happy thoughts about research and experiments. An attitude that cost him dearly as long, wiry legs entwined around his throat, squeezing it with all their might.

What the -?

His panic rose. The protective charms on his advanced bubble-head charm held, but did nothing against the pressure that was constricting his windpipe, making it difficult to breath. He was struggling with all his might against the foreign force, his hands clenching around the thin legs in a desperate attempt to get them away from him.

It was futile.

With each second the pressure against his throat became stronger and he was starting to feel dizzy, making it all the harder to concentrate on escaping. _Plimpies_, he realized while starting a last effort to pry himself free from the disgusting fish, but it wasn't possible. The legs made it impossible to utter any kind of incantation and he knew no silent magic besides the _Incendio_ and the _Depulso_, both which didn't work underwater.

Was that how it ended? Strangled by a stinking fish? He asked himself sardonically in the, apparently, last seconds of his life.

No!

His Gryffindor-side was in uproar. The second task had barely begun and he would not succumb to such a measly obstacle! His panic, that made him nearly loose his head, subsided and made place for a steely determination.

The solution was there all the time, but his mind had been to scrambled by fear to recognize it. He yanked Sku'grads dagger out of its sheath and jabbed it deeply into the ball shaped being. The pressure vanished instantly and he quickly grabbed the long leg that now hang limply over his shoulder, jerking it away from him.

He turned around and saw how the _Plimpies_ body twitched in the water, oozing blood from its large wound.

_Fuck_! He massaged his damaged throat as another unpleasant thought invaded his mind: _Piscibus conspuo_, a fish that appeared in swarms and was lured by the smell of blood. A quick look around him only affirmed his fear.

There was enough blood for it to be easily smelled and he decided that a fast retreat was in order.

"_Venti flamini!_"

Once again the spell propelled him away and he thanked Merlin that he didn't accidentally bump into a _Shrake_ on his way through the deep water. This time, he swore to be aware of his surroundings, not wanting to be caught unaware again.

Some jellyfishes and different swarms of very small and colorful fishes swam besides him as he stopped and fired _Diffindos _at the various plants that obstructed his way. Every five seconds he took subtle glances around him to check for dangers, but luckily no _Grindylow _was to be seen. Reasonably so, he supposed, as they lived in the deeper weed beds and those were still several hundred feet beneath him.

The wind spell had done its job magnificently, but now it was time to swim on his own. The magic of _Venti flamini_, while being able to transport him quickly and efficiently through the water, did nothing for his situational awareness and that was a weakness he couldn't afford in the deeper confines of the lake.

He swam with strong strokes of his legs, further and further down into the darkness and evaded several _Shrakes _that were exactly like the books described them - clumsy and without any orientation, but dangerous if bumped into accidentally. He saw the sharp spines protruding from their bodies and shuddered at the thought of what could have happened, had he met them head on at full speed.

"_Solem Aquis._"

Small balls of light flew out of his wand, arranging themselves around him as soon as he had finished the wand motions and spoke the incantation. There was a certain disadvantage that came along with being easily seen, but he would take it any day over the possibility of swimming blindly through _enemy_ territory.

His advances were halted with a sudden jerk and he looked around him, noticing the long and thin, but surprisingly strong plants in which his right leg got tangled up. They reminded him eerily of the devils snare in his first year and he decided to quickly end the threat before it could escalate and his immobility would cost him.

"_Diffindo!_" The curse slashed through the green flora that tried to imprison his legs and got rid of it, going so far as to make it retreat. So they had been sentient, he mused as he swam away, becoming more and more wary by the minute.

Two thirds of the way were already done, but he couldn't shake the feeling of worry that overcame him. It was too quiet for the most heavily populated mass of water in Scotland.

Something strange was afoot and he wasn't all too keen on finding out what it was exactly.

Another nearly pellucid Jellyfish moved next to him and he wondered if it belonged to the dangerous sort that burned you, if you touched it. His attention shifted quickly and he moved away from it, pulling his dagger out of its sheath. He could have sworn he saw something move through the weed just now.

With great caution he circled the large mass of green that obstructed his sight, but nearly wrote it off as an illusion as suddenly something sharp pricked him. Confused for a second he looked down at his right arm and saw a sharp fish bone sticking out of it.

How? He had left the place where he slaughtered the Plimpie fast enough - there should have been now way for the vicious _Piscibus_ to track him... A look of sudden, but unwanted enlightenment appeared on his face. The dagger! His neck snapped towards his left, where he held the dagger of Sku'grad in a defensive posture and his eyes focused on the specks of blood that still lingered on it.

Well shit, he thought intelligently, but was ripped out of his musings by another sharp prick.

"_Aegis Gelidum Rebus!_"

A dark blue shield snapped into place in front of him, as the three menacing looking fishes across fired bone after bone at him. On contact with the shield however, the sharp and hooked projectiles froze to ice and started to sink due to the added weight. A rather useful shield, he noticed when the next round of shots was stopped in its tracks. Unfortunately it would only work underwater and only against objects, but you couldn't have it all, right?

He felt that he had everything under control, when the mass of ice shards that slowly descended towards the ground grew by the second, but it lied in the nature of the Fates to prove his assumptions wrong every time.

The stinging feeling returned, this time on his back and a quick count of his additional foes made him groan in disappointment. Why couldn't he have it easy just one damn time? He decided that for the moment, self-pity wasn't the way to raise his chances of survival and slashed through one of the nearing _Piscibus _while his wand was in a steady motion.

"_Diffindo!_" The curse slashed through one of them, splitting it in two.

"_Sagitto!_" His wand arced in a wide motion and three arrows burst forth, although slower then they would have been on land and speared two of his intended targets.

He felt five fish bones enter his flesh, ripping open his skin in the process, but he could spare no time for cursing.

"_Venti flamini!_" A wave rippled through the water and flung several of his enemies away. His dagger was in a separate motion and pierced through the skull of one, that was only seconds away from biting him.

He was woefully unprepared for battles against a larger number of opponents, he thought as he viciously slashed another _Piscibus _and his _Diffindo _ripped through another. He had a few spells that could even the odds significantly, but he didn't dare to use them when he knew that there were still Grindylows and the Merfolk lurking around in the murky waters.

No, his aces were better left out of the whole fight. He wanted to keep them hidden aslong as possible.

"_Debi-_"

He stopped the incantation and choose another _Diffindo_ instead. Dumbledore had surely heard the beginning by now and would know which spell he intended to use. Sending electrical strikes, no matter how weak through water was a bad idea.

A few projectiles came from the right, directly into his vision, but he was fast enough to intercept them with a wave of his wand.

"_Aegis Gelidum Rebus!_" Once again, the dark blue shield came to be and froze incoming fish bones, but he couldn't afford to celebrate this shortlived victory as another grazed his cheek and smashed into the shield from behind.

How large were these swarms anyway?

Some murmured words animated several of the plants around him and gave a small reprieve when they started to wrap around his assailants. It was the time he needed and with precise spell work he made his way through them - hacking and slashing away with the dagger of Sku'grad in his left. He was reasonable sure that by now, large pools of blood could be seen on the surface of the lake.

What a mess...

He took a deep breath before continuing on his path to the colony. He hoped that only once his luck would spare him.

And he had no illusions that it was only this once his luck had worked when he arrived at the village, bloody and looking like a pincushion, but alive. Several Merpeople were crowding around large stakes, where he assumed that the hostages were held, but instead of harps and musical instruments they held large spears and menacing tridents in their hands.

What a task, he mused relieved that it would be finally over. With strong strokes he arrived in the center of the village and gaped, when his eyes spied the hostages. Two had already been rescued and only empty wooden columns were left behind, but on the outer left stake he saw a little girl with silvery blond hair, shackled to it like a criminal of the middle ages.

But his?

The old man had to be kidding him!

Miserable old goat... He swam to his hostage and cut through the ropes that bound the small and wiry hands, shaking his head while doing so. He wondered how the foreign visitors and the other spectators would think about it. Would their reactions be as incredulous as his, amused, disgusted or something else entirely?

What a statement to send out to the world. This time, Dumbledore had really outdone himself. Well, he would miss him, he thought as he freed the thin legs from their shackles. This was so like the old mans style. He snorted, when he looked at his now secured hostage.

Who else comes up with such ideas? Honestly...

Abducting Dobby from the kitchens and bind him to a column, miles underwater, had the goats hand prints all over. It took some time, but after several minutes he managed to get a large piece of rope and secured the unmoving house elf on his back. He would rather die, then accidentally lose Dobby on his way back to the surface.

"_Tempus._" Under normal circumstances it would be high time to return, with only ten minutes until the hour ended, but a look at Fleurs little sister, limply hanging from the stake, made him change his decision instantly. The chances of Fleur actually arriving during the time limit were rather low and he wouldn't be able to look her into the eyes again, if he left little Gabrielle in captivity of the Merfolk.

Hopefully the Merpeople wouldn't mind, he thought weakly and swam towards the lithe form on the far left, only to be met with several spears pointed at him.

Of course they would.

With handsigns, wild gestures and always pointing towards a quickly recast _Tempus _he tried to make them understand, but it was to no avail. The Merpeople didn't budge and only closed in on him. When one of the spears started to stab him lightly and drew blood, he snapped.

He had tried it on the diplomatic way, but if they wanted to do it like that? He would oblige!

"_Venti flamini!_" The Merman was flung away, but not killed. His gesture in good faith however didn't seemed to be appreciated by the majority of his companions and a sharp spear flew towards him with a higher velocity than he would have thought possible underwater.

A quick stroke of his legs brought him out of its path, but with the narrow miss of the deadly projectile, the gravity of the situation started to settle in. The last bit of his hesitation broke away and he felt a rush of adrenaline spread through his body, making his heart beat fast against his ribcage.

Merpeople were described as vicious fighters if angered and going by the enraged looks they gave him, he concluded that they were definitely angered by now. If he didn't want to end up dead, he would have to give it his all - including any spells he might have held back.

Another spear sailed by him and obliterated the last thoughts of a peaceful solution. They wanted it like this? They would get their wish.

His wand sprang into motion, weaving through intricate patterns and never stopping once.

"_Petrae Ictui!_" A large rock loosened itself from a large constellation to his right and smashed with vehemency into one of the approaching Merpeople, splattering the male soldier completely.

He evaded the next spear and fired a _Reducto_ at a trident wielding Merman that came way to close for his comfort."_Hasta Glacialis_!"

In front of him a large shard of ice formed and flew towards the encroaching enemies, spearing two of them. It was a grandiose and bloody battle and inwardly he wanted nothing more then to continue it to show everyone his prowess, but he couldn't and he knew it. He wouldn't lose sight of his original target. He wouldn't be swayed by senseless bloodlust and thirst for battle.

Was it that hunger for battle, that made people like Tom Riddle into Dark Lords? Is it the overwhelming control, that one gains when making the decision about simply ending anothers life?

Inch for inch he fought through the never ending masses of Merpeople, not noticing the mass of injuries they inflicted on him. His focus lied solely on Gabrielle, Fleurs little sister.

"_Defodio!_" The beam of orange light crashed against one of the house-like structures and made it explode outwards, shrapnels of stone killing the dangerous Merpeople next to it. A trident grazes his leg, leaving a large wound and he gave a strangled cry as he jabbed the dagger through the Merman that wielded it.

He couldn't go on like this. Since Dumbledore gave him the hint on the Well-concept he knew how to regulate his magic, portioning it appropriately, but he also recognized his limit faster. The concept staved off much of the unused magic of his spells and it made him last much longer through a fight, but he knew that he would reach the end soon - nearly an hour fighting through the Black Lake had seen to it.

"_Reducto!_" Another Merman had a gaping hole through his chest and Harry searched fervently for a way to implement his next spell, that would hopefully end it and enable him to get Gabrielle and Dobby away.

Angling out of the way of a thrown spear, he pointed his wand towards the bottom.

"_Venti flamini!_" He had used that spell so often today, it felt like he had known it his whole life. Gales of wind burst forth from his wand, propelling him away from the large mass of Merpeople and gave him the precious seconds he needed to end this struggle.

"_Father of water, I beseech thee to grant me thy power in quest to conquer thi foes._" His green eyes started to glow with an unearthly light and the sound of his voice gained an ancient quality.

The bleachers, where the crowd had until then cheered and gasped at all the right places, became silent. Not one word was spoken, as each of the spectator looked on. They did not understand the magic that was currently in the process of being used, but something made them shut up and stop partying. They had a feeling, born from pure instinct, that something monumental was happening in the lake. Something that hadn't be seen on such a scale for a long time. Even Ludo Bagman had stopped his commentary, in awe of the feeling of magic that suddenly permeated the air and made the hairs on his neck stand up.

Indeed, they were right in their assumptions. The chant he had used during the first task to ensnare the dragon with large roots was similar and came from the same category of magic, but had nothing on the piece of magic he tried to call upon now.

"_May they wither under thy hands and fear thy retribution, for it will be coming swiftly._"

The Merpeople that were still in a relentless charge towards him stopped in their tracks, as the feeling of ancient Magicks reached them and the rough voice echoed throughout the water, being heard by every creature in the lake no matter how far away it was.

Many of the foreign dignitaries had a confused expression etched onto their faces and only the Head Auror of Norway, an old man with a long grey beard that rivaled Dumbledores, had a knowing glint in his eyes. Asmund Hálfdan, Jarl of Østfold and Head Auror for over five decades had only reluctantly agreed to accompany his Minister to the fabled Triwizard Tournament, but orders were orders and as a Jarl he knew his duties well.

His foresight has been proven correct when the task begun and only several minutes into it, the first champion had problems to defeat a simple Plimpie of all things. He had shaken his head in contempt when the Bulgarian prodigy did a sub-par Transfiguration into a shark and he was on the point of apparating away, when a small horde of Grindylows managed to make the French Veela submit.

Only the warning hand of his Minister and friend, Einarr Hallstein, gripping his arm had held him back in his seat. The event had bored him in manners he couldn't even describe and the sole reprieve was the amusing and somewhat ingenious application of simple charms, the Potter boy had shown. Things started to finally shape up, when the lad took the noble route and started a courageous fight with the complete colony of the Merfolk, but now...

Now he could barely hold himself in his seat with giddiness and curiosity. His grandfather, bless his soul, who had died nearly two centuries ago had told him about Magicks, so ancient and arcane, that they could be felt for miles. Magicks with the potential to be as destructive as the forces of nature itself. Back then he had written them off as legends and the blithering of an old man that had long ago entered the stages of senility, but now? Would he finally be able to witness these fabled magicks?

Einarr Hallstein saw the fascination on the face of his oldest friend, but trained his eyes on the only other man that would know what all the fuss was about. Albus Dumbledore, venered Headmaster of Hogwarts and holder of various other titles, sat next to Barty Crouch Sr. and exchanged hushed whispers with the man. An imperceptible jerk of his hand later, he could hear them quite clearly.

"Albus! Have you lost your mind?" Crouch Sr. asked in a furious whisper, outrage etched on his face.

"I assure you Barty that I am quite sane." replied the Headmaster with a serene look. "Would you mind explaining your rage to this old man?"

"You must have taught him that kind of magic!"

"I haven't." The old mans answer only made the anger of Crouch grow. Hallstein uttered a chuckle laced with mirth. He had worked often enough with Dumbledore to know how the mans replies could bring one to the brink of despair.

"Don't take me a fool Albus!"

"Barty..." Dumbledore started with a placative gesture of his hands. "You were there, when I took my oaths as a Judge. You know how the magic of such oaths works. I have taught young Harry no more then you did."

"But where?" Crouch started to sputter.

"Where indeed? I fear you have to ask him that yourself."

Hallstein inconspicuously disabled the listening charm and snickered to himself. People like Dumbledore, while infuriating at times, were incredible fun to be around.

Deep down in the Black Lake, Harry Potter never heard any of those comments as he looked over the masses of Merpeople, fear of the inevitable etched onto their faces. They had an inkling of what was coming and didn't like it one bit.

"_Without warning, without delay it will smite thi that sought to harm._"

Persos the Fifth, Merfolk Chieftain of the Black Lake and leader for over a century now was furiously berating his soldiers for aggravating the human over a simple matter like a tournament. He could only hope that whatever magick the young warrior was calling at the moment, could be placated by the immediate surrender of him and his people.

"_Aquam nos Serpentes, Letas Ea Inimico!_" Harry roared and magic surged through his whole body, sending shockwaves rippling through the water.

Something gigantic formed in the water in front of him, its color only several shades lighter then the blue of the sea. Moments passed and the being grew and began to shape itself, until a huge serpent like creature towered over the frightened Merpeople.

Harry knew what the spell was supposed to do or at least he thought he knew it, but instead the magic surpassed any kind of imagination he had about it. His original aim was to call a water serpent that would hopefully be as large as the Basilisk of his second year, to free him the way to Gabrielle.

But this?

What the fuck had he called? He shuddered and hoped beyond hope that the being would vanish as soon as he ended the spell.

It was a colossal snake, so tremendous in its length that it coiled around the whole colony - each of its scales larger than two Merpeople put together.

The drain on his magic had been enormous, but he didn't even take notice of it as he swam hesitantly towards the stake where Fleurs sister remained shackled. He saw the Merpeople drop their weapons left and right, doing everything in their might to appease him. That he felt watched was a given, but when he turned around and looked into the observing eyes of the snake, two gargantuan glowing orbs of light, he shivered in fright and vowed to never use this spell again. Some magic was simply to powerful to fiddle around with - a fact he learned at exactly that moment.

He quickly loosened the ties around Gabrielles small hands and secured her unmoving body in his arms. Not wanting to remain any second longer amongst the Merfolk or his summoned water creature, he wove his wand and incanted the last spell he would use for the day.

Back to the basics, he thought ironically and with a rueful smile.

"_Venti flamini!_"

For minutes, the spell flung them through the water and he was endlessly glad, when he saw the watery being vanish into nothingness as he left the colony. He didn't even dare to speculate about the consequences should he have failed to control it.

When he broke through the surface and landed on the wooden bridges that had been constructed for the returning champions, he noticed how Dobby and Gabrielle came to life and clung to him like he was their lifeline. Harry could barely understand what they said, as they spoke incredibly fast and at the same time, but he gathered that while not being able to move, they were able to see everything that had transpired.

Their voices however faded away, when Fleur threw herself at him and sobbed hysterically against his chest. He could unterstand the sentiment. He would have done the same, had it been his sister that was down in the lake.

Besides Fleur, Gabrielle and Dobby no one made a sound however. He looked towards the bleachers and saw the different expression each spectator wore, ranging from fear and curiosity to amazement and awe.

Albeit never on such a scale and with such magicks involved, Asmund Hálfdan had witnessed these kind of moments many times before and knew how quickly the opinions of a person could change with them. The last thing he wanted to see today, was the young man being villiefied for a piece of magic so grand that news about it would make ripples throughout the world.

With those thoughts he rose from his seat, followed by his Minister and Albus Dumbledore and they started to clap loudly, ripping the stunned crowd out of its reverie. Asmund held the tip of his wand to his throat and his voice boomed over the premise.

"Well done, young man!"

Einarr Hallstein did the same and used his own _Sonorus_ to be heard. "On behalf of Norway, I thank you for a display of magic long lost in legends and myths."

Sven Stígr, the Swedish Minister of Magic, rose next and he too commented. "The nation of Sweden wishes you the best of luck on your path."

"As does Denmark!"

"And Germany!"

"The French will not forget what you did for one of our own today."

"Ve cherish strong vizards." came the booming voice of the Bulgarian Minister, Alandrei Salvoski. "You are velcome in our country any time, young varrior."

One after another, important dignitaries and nobles alike rose from their seats and with each exclamation that followed, he saw how the expressions of fear changed. Overwhelmed with everything he looked towards the oldest of them all. The man that had helped him the best he could on his path to gain enough power to survive and tried to circumvent a strong magical oath, not even halting when the pain became nearly unbearable. Albus Dumbledore stood in the background, giving the others the chance to praise him, but the proud look in his eyes filled Harry with a sense of accomplishment, he had never felt before.

Then it happened.

Like a dam had finally broken, the people jumped to their feet and started to cheer like there was no tomorrow. The noise was nearly deafening and Harry saw, how many of them started to smash their kegs of Butterbeer and Firewhiskey against the banisters, producing a rhythm that brought the atmosphere to the next level and heated things up accordingly.

The crowd was wild and they never even noticed the five silvery tens that shot in the air and signaled the points he had earned with the task. Madam Maxime and Karkaroff had no choice but to award him the highest score possible after the ringing endorsement of their Ministers and several political figures.

That was the last thing he saw, before Madam Pomfrey ushered him and Fleur, who was still sobbing and clinging to him, towards the Medi-tent where he could be checked over. Drunken from his feelings of victory, he only faintly remembered some spears that might have grazed him.

* * *

Well, thats it. Harry braved the second task and forged his first inroads into foreign ministries. He also got scared by some of the powers that he could call upon. What else will he do? Read the answer to that and much more in the next Chapter of Magicks of the Arcane!

Ps: More then a third of my time spent on the FF is used to create Spells, Legends, Myths and to think up magical concepts, artifacts and principles for the different branches. I can safely say: My respect for Rowling, who gifted us with this incredible world, is rising by the minute.


	7. Chapter 7

There we are, the seventh chapter of my FF =)

**All:** I want to thank everyone for their comments, whether they include critique or praise! It's always nice to know what kind of reaction my FF caused =) There were many people who wrote something about the sixth chapter and to some of them I pm'd a response, but as it were so many... I apologize to everyone who still has unanswered question. I always welcome pm's and will do my best to answer them promptly.

Here we go!

* * *

**Magicks of the Arcane**

Chapter VII

* * *

**Hogwarts - 4. March 1995**

Drops of rain were battering against the windows lining the corridor, rattling their frames and making them dirtier by the minute - as they had been doing for several days already. The biting cold that resurfaced was accompanied by the howling wind sweeping through the yards, able to be heard in every corner of the old looking castle. Hogwarts reflected his current state of mind in a most depressing manner, Harry thought as he walked through the narrow hall leading away from Professor McGonagalls classroom, passing unpolished suits of armor and unlit torches on his way.

Her class taught one of his favorite magical branches, but since the tournament had begun there was nothing enjoyable about it. Instead, he felt uneasy every time he crossed the threshold to the room, as it left him completely vulnerable to the scared stares of his peers. Fright and suspicion seemingly permanently etched onto their faces and with each time he didn't answer their questions these feelings only increased.

He had hoped that the positive reception after his second task would carry over and that his fellow students wouldn't resent, but like him for the spectacle he made.

He felt lonely and although he was too proud to forgive Hermione and Ron, a 'good work' or 'nice mate' from the other Gryffindors would have felt good nonetheless.

It didn't happened.

Just like second year, the whole school was afraid of him and like then, he had to blame a gigantic snake.

It looked good at first, when the adults decided to make the whole thing a bit livelier and he really enjoyed the evening, but in the end... he still ended up in nearly the same position as two years ago.

After the celebration, when campfires were extinguished, remaining bones of roasted boars littered the ground and every adult except the professors had left the ground, fear reared its ugly head and all it took to fester were masked words of contempt and sly accusations, whispered into the ears of susceptible students. Oh, the Slytherins thought themselves clever that night, unseen and unheard by any of their opposition... But Harry had seen the subtle advances of Malfoy; had heard the poisonous lies of Nott and like the foolish boy Snape always accused him to be, he thought them empty threats.

Where was the experience he had gained during his second year? Where had it been, when he needed it the most? He should have known, that just like then the students would start to spite him either out of fear, jealousy or both, but like an idiot he had clung to the belief that everything would work out in the end. Past events had taught him, but he did not heed their lessons when he smashed his keg of butterbeer together with Salvoskis glass of vodka and Hálfdans bottle of _Akavit_, ignoring all signs that pointed towards trouble.

And how could he resent the students curiosity, when he would have done exactly the same only months ago? He, Hermione and Ron would have sneaked around and used every method possible to get some informations.

He wanted to answer, wanted to clarify what had happened down in the lake, but his own insecurity held him back. Did he even know what really happened? The magic he had commanded on that day had felt as frightening and terrible as the being he summoned with it.

And something had scared him during that moment, even more then the gargantuan serpent had done. Something that no spectator could have seen or felt.

The drain on his magic had been incredible and emptied him of nearly all his reserves, but it hadn't been sufficient to create such a beast. Something else, worlds apart from his own magic and control, had sustained the chant and called the gigantic serpent into being. An unknown power that had frightened him beyond belief with its might.

Lost in thought and pondering on the mysterious force, he wandered alongside the walls of Hogwarts until turning to the right, walking around a corner.

A flash of light suddenly blinded him and out of instinct he took two steps backwards, his wand already moving in circular patterns that started most shielding charms beyond the simple _Protego_.

"Mr. Potter!"

He retained his tense posture, but stopped his wand motions as the unknown voice sounded neither hostile nor aggressive. Slowly the light started to recede and his impaired vision cleared, but when he could finally see again... he wished it hadn't.

"Mr. Potter, I'm from th-"

"Daily Prophet, Potter! What's your opinion about the second task?" asked a short woman to his right.

She had rudely interrupted the burly looking man in front of him, that stunk of booze, but didn't seemed all too concerned about being cut off. The noise of quills scratching against parchment reached his ears and he noticed the unassuming people standing in the background. More reporters, eager to write down anything he would tell them.

His panic rose, as the group of inquisitive reporters attracted the attention of several students lingering in the hallway, heightening the amount of people crowding him even more. What were these people doing here? Hadn't Dumbledore said that the press only had access to the castle for the two days after the task?

How could he answer them, when he himself didn't understand it?

They closed in on him, ignoring any notion of personal space and repeated their questions, confused by his lack of response. His eyes darted around, looking for possible means of escape, when he suddenly saw something that made his blood boil in fury and removed the last portion of calm he had possessed.

He should have known!

Suddenly the constantly growing gaggle of people made sense and Harry vowed to return the favor someday - in the most humiliating way possible. Against the wall far to his left leaned Malfoy, a satisfied smirk on his face and his eyes alight with unhidden cruelty when he noticed that Harry was looking at him.

The situation grew worse when a reporter started to touch and shake him, trying to elicit a reaction.

"Mr. Po-"

"_Lumos Solem!_"

Blinding white light erupted from the tip of his wand and he wasted no time to turn around and run away as fast as his legs could carry him. There was the very real possibility that the students would fear him even more now, but that didn't matter at the moment. At least, as long as he was still in the reach of those vultures.

How could he have been so careless, so lost in his thoughts, that he forgot to use the notice-me-not charm after class had ended? Again, he had been caught unaware and it angered him. Turning around a corner, he stopped his wild run and tightened the grip around his wand.

"_Corpora Abditum!_"

He would be damned before stumbling into another trap of Malfoy. The idiot was a conceited and bigoted blighter, but a Slytherin nonetheless - and past experiences taught him that Slytherins most likely had back-up plans.

Harry peered around the next corner, not satisfied with relying purely on the concealing charm. He had become complacent over time and this flaw had revealed itself in a most brutal manner, minutes ago. The danger of tripping up during an interview was quelled, but the reactions to his rather sudden and violent departure had a lethal potential as well and it irked him to no end that it was Malfoy, who had brought him into such a situation.

Disregarding some silly badges, the ponce had kept quiet throughout the whole year and a trap like that, he had only expected from people like Nott or Zambini, but not Malfoy. It showed that the hat had been right in its decision in first year, when it barely touched Malfoys head and screamed Slytherin. Like a snake, the blonde had lied in wait and struck when it hurt the most.

Which seeds of doubt and what rumors would Malfoy spread in his absence?

Even someone as dim - No, he couldn't allow himself to think like that.

Not anymore. Against all odds the Slytherin had capitalized on his lack of foresight and it were his thoughts, that everything Malfoy did was inconsequential, that enabled him to do so.

A mistake he won't repeat in the future.

Finally having reached his sanctuary, he nearly ripped the door out of its hinges when entering and flung locking- and silencing charms alike at the brutalized piece of wood as soon as it had closed behind him. Only when he sat down on his chair, did he allow a suffering sigh to escape his lips and buried his head in his hands.

Malfoy - no, the whole house of Salazar would use the situation to its maximum potential, baring some minor exceptions. How long will it take, for him to be seen as a Dark Lord again? The parents good opinions of him meant nothing, when they were that far away from their children.

The speed at which reputations were able to be shattered was frightening and Harry wondered what his would be in a few days. Still Merlins reincarnation, or Voldemorts after all?

"_Incendio._"

Carefully controlled fire incinerated the various international newspapers that haphazardly littered his desk - none of them including an interview, but each of them vividly describing his honorable and courageous _deeds_. A bunch of inane drivel if he had ever seen one.

Not one of them considered the dozens of Merpeople he had merciless butchered on his way to Gabrielle. It sickened him and they had the gall to call the slaughter noble, as if the beings that he 'vanquished' were nothing. The changes of expression he had seen in their faces, from shocked to devoid of any life, had given him a completely new sense of what a live was worth.

Suddenly he understood Dumbledores constant preaching for forgiveness and the avoidance to kill a lot better. Their frightened stares, when they realized that he wouldn't be scared away and started his chant were forever etched into his mind.

Did not even one of those idiots feel any kind of horror about his actions that day? Did no one mourn the lives he had extinguished in a matter of minutes, he asked himself and a lone tear slowly trailed over his cheek. What hurt the most was that it hadn't even been necessary as he learned only minutes after the task had ended.

Disgust welled up inside of him and he thought about the hours that had followed. Swayed by the euphoria of victory he had become one of them, belonged to the same group of people he was condemning now. Oh, how glorious it had been to narrate the battle from his own point of view to the Swedish Minister and depict any spell he had used with cruel imagination; how satisfying it had felt to be recognized not for his parents death, but for something done out of his own strength; and how proud he had felt when Hálfdan patted him on the shoulder, urging him on to describe everything in minute detail.

He didn't even stop after noticing Dumbledores disappointed look. A look that had remained throughout every story of the Black Lake he told and was a far cry from the proud smile, Harry was used to receive.

He had seen the frown that marred the older mans face when Harry continued to celebrate, even after, or especially after being told that the hostages were safe all along and the mindless battle had been useless. Drunken on his victory he had ignored it, thought it to be another eccentric facet of his headmaster and regaled the attentive audience with the next story about his bloody battle.

Now he understood, and the callousness he had discovered that night, lingering in his very own soul, shocked him to the core.

"I've done something terrible, Hed." he whispered fraught with guilt and turned his head towards the snowy owl that had perched itself on his shoulder. His gaze wandered aimlessly around the room.

He couldn't sleep in the dorms, not anymore. The stares would drive him barmy and the floor seemed just as good tonight.

If it would help to humble him a bit, all the better. Humbling was something he desperately needed right now as the thought that he resembled the pompous idiot Lockhart on that evening was incredible disgusting.

* * *

On a large ship and completely surrounded by muggles, Sirius Black looked over the calm ocean, his gaze firmly fixed on the horizon. The carefully concealed magical paper '_International Magical News_' was starting to crumble in his hands and with it, the picture of his godson on the front page.

His destination? Scottland.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 9. March 1995**

"We've got a lot of work to do, Hed!"

Harry stood in the middle of his room, readying his wand to use some difficult transfiguration spells he read about in the attempt to escape the countless stares. Malfoy had done it and while nothing had hit the press just yet, words about his spell against the reporters spread fast in Hogwarts and changed the fright into accusations. At the moment, h e could count the people that would even communicate with him on one hand.

"_Mutare Lectorum._"

The old desk, one of the only remaining in the room, slowly changed into a sturdy bed frame capable of holding two people. It was a pity, he thought, that he couldn't just permanently transfigure a complete bed and had to bother with every single step in between.

"_Mutare Culcitra._"

A chair transformed itself into a soft mattress. At least he hoped it was soft. It was something he had to test after his bout of transfiguration was finished.

"You know, girl, I wonder why the Weasleys never did that..."

Hedwig, who lazed around on her very own perch, cocked her head to the side. "Don't give me that look! Even if they aren't able themselves, they could have always asked Dumbledore."

Did Hedwig just shake her head?

"Do you think they would consider it charity?" he asked, while waving his wand through the air and transfiguring one of his old school robes into a large blanket. Some hoots answered him.

"What do you mean? Why wouldn't it concern me? _Mutare Cervical_." His magic surged through the holly wand and with a wide sweeping motion, the tendrils of power reached out to several small objects, permanently changing them into pillows.

"I know that Ron can bugger off, but his parents got nothing to do with it!"

He carefully arranged the blanket and the pillows on his new bed, before sitting down and turning completely to Hedwig, who hooted at him in a reproachful manner. "No sweater this Christmas? Well yeah..."

Her amber eyes locked with his green ones.

"Can't imagine that Ron told them good things about me. Anyway, want to go on a walk?" he asked and instantly, as if she had just waited on it, Hedwig flew from her perch and landed smoothly on his shoulder.

He walked out of his rooms, applied the several security charms and made his way towards the grounds. The clouds that had hounded the castle for weeks were gone and the first rays of sun met the earth. For the first time this year it felt like spring had finally come.

The notice-me-not charm helped him to navigate through the throngs of students that walked the grassy fields, or sat by the lake, enjoying the good weather. He would have liked to be just one of them, but being Harry Potter had several disadvantages to the name and every time he passed one of the happy groups, chattering away about professors, schoolwork and other people, he felt a pang of jealousy.

There was no need to sate his curiosity about current hot topics in the castle. There was only one and he had absolutely no intention to hear anything about himself at the moment. He felt miserable enough as it was.

Far away from the nosy student body of Hogwarts, he seated himself under an old oak and let the shadows enshroud him, bathing in the feeling of invisibility they provided. For the last days his thoughts had been scrambled and the guilt over what had happened still gripped his heart. It was exhausting and slowly his eyelids closed, the darkness inviting him into Morpheus grasp.

* * *

"Behold, the city of Gernhag!" His master pointed towards the large city in front of them. It's walls were as high as the magnificent old trees he had seen, when they wandered through the forest of Skellarg and he had been taught the significance of various magical herbs and fungi.

A small stream split the city in half as far as he could see it, but instead of making it look bucolic, it added to the imposing impression of Gernhag. He looked towards the man that had taught him the ways of life for over a decade now and marveled once again at the length of his beard. A source of constant amusement for his master.

"Many glorious battles have been fought in front of these very walls." The man turned to his young apprentice and his eyes sparkled with mirth as he gave him a short slap on the back of his head.

"Lad, don't concentrate on my beard! There's history right ahead of you. Tell me, do you remember what I told you about the city?"

The young man, thoroughly chastised, trained his eyes on the gigantic structures. "Gernhag, built after Monochtes first rise and a bastion of our folk for centuries."

The older man nodded. "Right, but don't just concentrate on the surface. You will find these informations in every historical manuscript. What else do you know?"

"It is ruled by nobility, which lives in the higher parts, but they don't care about the normal people. In the lower sections crime is festering and poverty is abound." he answered.

"So you did listen to me for once. A surprise indeed!"

Harry gave his master a suffering look, but the man only laughed. "Let us go down then and discover this wondrous place filled with disparities."

For a man that was two-hundred years old, he sure walked fast. Harry had to scramble, just to catch up with him and it wasn't easy as the small path was littered with debris - remains from an old guard tower that had crumbled under the burden of time.

"Harry?"

* * *

"-, Harry?"

Confused he woke, still lying under the large oak tree. What was that? The dream was of the same nature as the one he had months ago, but lacked the desperate fighting and the constant feelings of anger and fury.

He looked around, trying to determinate whose voice it was that broke him out of his sleep and his green eyes widened a fraction when he saw the headmaster leaning against a tree, his brows furrowed and his beard oddly braided in an intricate design.

The man looked at him, his blue orbs as penetrating as they had always been.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" he asked.

"Professor..."

Harry didn't really know what to say. In truth, he had dreaded a further conversation with the headmaster, but now it seemed unavoidable.

"Still celebrating your victory?"

Guilt welled up inside of him as he looked towards Dumbledore and the cruel thoughts about the second task returned full force. If the headmaster wasn't speaking in riddles and metaphors, which seldom happened, he was brutally blunt and it were moments like this, when Harry hated that particular trait.

"No." he whispered. "I hate myself for what I've done..."

Was this the time, when the headmaster would think him the same as Voldemort? In the end, Harry thought, his actions had been of the same variety, if less cruel. Unbothered, he had feasted after the massacre, not once thinking about the deaths he caused that day.

"Yet I saw you drinking happily, reveling in the afterglow and attention."

Again, it felt like an arrow shot through his heart. "Headmaster, I... I-. There were so many of them.. and they wouldn't let me pass. Gabrielle! She looked so frail..."

He was at a loss for words and the gaze of his mentor did nothing to calm himself. Several minutes went by, but the professor did not speak. His expression told Harry nothing and his head hung low as he knew that soon, oh so very soon, the older man would judge him. For years, he had striven for the praise of the headmaster, appreciating every compliment, but that it seemed would soon be a thing of the past.

It felt like an hour had passed until Dumbledore finally spoke: "It isn't the deed I criticize, but what followed it." he said and stared straight ahead, not even looking at Harry.

"I felt proud of you, undeniably so, when you rose from the lake, because even after you had faced all those trials, you held true to your beliefs and selflessly secured a hostage not your own. For you, who knew nothing about the workings behind the task, it was the only way."

Dumbledore turned towards him, but his face was still unreadable. "No, the tragedy that happened in Sul'adan wasn't of your making, you were but a tool in the slaughter."

Harry winced as he saw how the headmaster narrowed his eyes.

"I already exchanged heated words with Barty Crouch, as it was he, that made the Merfolk swear to hinder any champion concerned with another hostage. As a newly accepted species under ministerial laws, chieftain Murcus readily agreed of course, eager to improve their standing."

It had been possible to avoid the whole thing if Crouch hadn't spoken to them? No, he thought and quickly suppressed his feelings of anger. He murdered them and he alone had to bear the guilt for it.

"For someone with your convictions, a battle was inevitable."

Dumbledore looked truly sad, when he continued to talk: "I am disappointed in you, because even after I told you that the hostages were never in any danger, you did not mourn those that fell by your hands."

"Professor, I-"

"Were you that easily swayed by the feeling of belonging? Or was professor Snape right and it was the fame that swelled your head?"

The words were harsh and bringing the potion master into the matter only made it worse. So far Dumbledores view of him had fallen...

"-orry. I'm sorry headmaster... so sorry." he whispered over and over as the faces of those he killed appeared in his mind. Dumbledores look softened somewhat, but still he continued.

"That is good, but my questions remain unanswered."

"I don't know. I- I finally felt like the people were celebrating something _I_ did. I and not my parents. Something that hadn't anything to do with Voldemort..."

Harry nearly stumbled over his words.

"And thus you forgot those that died by your magic, eagerly telling stories around roaring fires when the Merfolk mourned their loss."

The headmaster, still looking forlorn and weary, walked away, but left Harry a last advice.

"It is not I you should apologize to, Harry."

And then he was gone, not leaving a single sign that he had been there to begin with.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 16. March 1995**

"_Mutara Monumentis Lapsuum Morti._"

Tendrils of his magic reached out to the old shelf, wrapping around it, trying to form it after his will. For a moment it looked like it would finally work, but after several seconds in which nothing happened, the magic receded and Harry sighed in frustration.

"_Mutara Monumentis Lapsuum Morti._" But he wouldn't give up. His wand moved through the air as he incanted the spell once again and traces of his magic permeated the whole room.

And again, the spell didn't take hold of the shelf.

Since the conversation with the headmaster, that left him a guilt-ridden wreck, he had barricaded himself in his sanctuary, looking for a way to apologize to the Merfolk. He had an idea, but the practical application was incredible difficult and for days he tried to make his magic obey his imagination - to no avail.

"_Mutara Monumentis Lapsuum Morti!_"

He poured more and more of his essence into the spell, but he knew it wouldn't work like that and it was the frustration that hindered him. The piece of transfiguration he tried, day after day, hour after hour, wasn't dependent on power, but on pure finesse and it was something neither achieved by being overly emotional, nor with the usual concentration he had.

He sunk to his knees and his fists hammered onto the cold floor as he recognized the early signs of his empty magical well. Why couldn't it just work? It didn't matter. He would do it, or die trying!

And he rose to his feet, his face a mask of steely determination, his wand in constant motion.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 17. March 1995**

He had done it.

He stood in front of the Black Lake and a shiver ran through his body when he remembered what had happened down in these waters. Personally, he would like nothing better then to never return to this wretched place, but he had a mission and without completing it, he would forever be plagued by nightly terrors of guilt and shame.

"_Aeres Cinctum Somatis._"

The layer of oxygen wrapped around his body, making it once again possible to take breath under the water.

He took a last, shuddering breath and then walked straight into the lake.

Instantly, as if he was remembered as an old friend, the water engulfed him and he swam towards the place where he knew Sul'adan to be.

No spell would transport him there that day.

As he dove deeper and deeper into the treacherous water, he recognized some of the places he passed and he vividly remembered each fight that took place. The strangling legs of the Plimpie, the sharp projectiles of the Piscibus...

But the waters were calm today.

"_Solem Aquis._"

Orbs mirroring the sun appeared around him, spending him light and illuminated the dark confines of the lake, announcing his presence. But when he looked around, it took all of his power not to gape.

Fishes, of all variety and color, Jellyfishes, pellucid as always and many more beings were swimming behind him, following his light as if they knew what he was about to do. He was wary, of course, about the dangerous creatures that he had fought only weeks prior, but when, after minutes of silent observation, they still didn't attack he continued on his path to Sul'adan.

As he swam through the last wall of plants that obscured his vision, his movements ceased and with them every motion of his silent followers. Green eyes, filled with grief, gazed over Sul'adan and took in the destruction their owner had wrought. The assortment of simple huts on the outer left of the settlement were seemingly under construction to rebuild them and piles of rubble littered the sea ground. The devastating result of many _Defodios_ he had carelessly thrown around.

Torches, lit with a light not unlike his _Solem Aquis_, illuminated the working Merpeople who unsucessfully tried to remove the large boulder he had flung with _Petrae ictui _- the advanced stone bullet charm.

To see the devastation his actions have caused... It was one thing to have nightmares, but to look at it with his very own eyes...

Slowly he went deeper into the settlement and was met with frightened and suspicious stares, but no one was willing to stop him in his advance towards the center where the statue of Sul'adans founder stood.

It was a terrible feeling to see the horrified looks of Merpeople so small they could only be children. The terror he had brought into the life of innocents would forever remain a black mark in his life and he vowed to do everything in his capability to ease their fears and sooth their worries.

With his heart full of sorrow, he arrived at the large monument of Persos - a Merman who was renown for playing the most beautiful harp, as he remembered from the books he read. Most of Sul'adans population had followed him alongside the various beings of the sea, still wary about his intentions.

As was their right, Harry thought and finally came to halt in front of a Merman whose face was set in an expressionless mask.

Murcus Persos the fifth, chieftain of Sul'adan.

He saw how the Merfolk assembled behind their leader - not with raised weapons, but alert should something of hostile nature occur. In the years to come, Harry would often wonder what had surprised them more at that moment; the deference he showed them, or the nature of his gift?

With his head turned to the ground he brought himself in a kneeling position and commanded every ounce of his magic to circumvent the very nature of water, rooting him to the spot.

His magic obeyed and his sluggish movements to navigate the waters ceased, leaving him completely still, kneeling at the heels of Sul'adans chieftain.

Silence.

It felt like hours had passed and no word of Mermish, English, or any other language had been spoken during that time... until the tranquility was broken by Murcus, who swam forward and laid his webbed hands on Harrys shoulders.

No words were needed as the last Potter finally looked up and stared into the chieftains yellow eyes, asking for forgiveness with his suffering gaze. A forgiveness that was granted, when Murcus gave him a nod of acknowledgment and pulled him into a standing position where he could see eye to eye with the Merman.

And then he heard it.

Music, so beautiful and angelic that it ensnared the senses and made one revel in its elegance - yet was so very sad. Several Merpeople had taken up their harps, following the chieftains example who had started to play on his own, and what followed... was something Harry would later on have trouble to describe accurately.

A symphonie of such a mournful nature, that despite its innate sadness, it made him feel content. It was a song of death and rebirth - the never ending cycle - and as if it had invoked ancient magicks, instincts older then the known world took over his body and he reached into the satchel that hang from the belt of Hypolytos, pulling out the gift he had made for them.

The feeling he had was so very different from the _Imperius _and yet he was in a trance, his body moving on its own as if guided by invisible hands. His magic engulfed him, filled him to the very brim and he felt it pulsating under his skin, but it wasn't of violent nature. His arms rose slowly, but he wasn't uncomfortable with it, even if it wasn't by his own will.

And just like that the magic vanished, leaving the gift enlarged in front of him as the ancient presence that guided his movements left his body.

The music ended and when he came back to his senses, he stared on the large stone tablet he made for the Merfolk, examining it once again. He didn't know the names of the fallen, but their faces he remembered vividly and it were those faces he had carved into the tablet; in a sense, making them immortal after they had died to defend Sul'adan.

After minutes, the chieftain uttered some Mermish words and several Mermen carried the tablet away, securing it with ropes beneath the statue of their Paragon. As they did their duty, Murcus returned his gaze to Harry and jerked his head, making the green hair fly through the water - wild and untamed.

No translation was needed and the Potter heir understood, that while Murcus forgave him, his presence was still a constant reminder of their loss. The guilt he carried didn't vanish, but became easier to accept as he made his way back to the surface - the trail of beings that had followed him to the settlement slowly scattering into all four winds.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 18. March 1995**

"So, I apologized to the Merfolk..." he said, once again sitting across from his headmaster.

The highly ornamented armchairs were as comfortable as always, even if the topic of their discussion was anything but... The tea, Tipsy had served each of them, was cold by now, but none of them thought about asking for a new batch.

"That is admirable, but after everything you told me about it, it still isn't what you truly wanted to tell me." Dumbledore answered.

Either the man was incredibly perceptive, or he had just legilimized him for the fun of it, but he doubted the latter. There was no need for legilimency, when his body language told him everything he needed to know.

"Well, yes... but it connects with it."

The older man remained patient and stroked his beard, which was still braided, waiting for him to elaborate.

"When I summoned that snake... I felt- I felt like I wasn't in control anymore. Like something else controlled it. Something incredible. Something dangerous. The snake was gigantic and... and the thought of it out of my control... was terrifying."

Dumbledore didn't seem all too surprised by his admission. "But only now you came to me with this matter. So I have to ask myself: what else has happened that made your concerns rise?"

Harrys eyes weren't on the headmaster when he answered and instead wandered around the room, taking in the various portraits that listened with rapt attention. "When I was down in the lake, apologizing... it happened again. This time I didn't only loose control over my magic. I lost control over my body! Like an _Imperius_!"

"Did it feel like an _Imperius_?"

"Ye- No... The effects were the same, but whatever it was didn't try to impose itself on me - it only wanted to guide me. It's just..." he trailed off.

"You have nothing to fear, Harry."

His questioning gaze met the headmaster, asking for an explanation.

"For all the knowledge you acquired over the last months, there are still many things you don't know about our world. Things, that even most people who lived in it for all their lives don't know, or chose to ignore."

Dumbledore rose from his chair and went over to the large window that overlooked most of Hogwarts. "Mankind fears what it can't understand. Always, we strive to gain the power over these things - wizards and muggle alike, but whenever it doesn't work and we aren't able to control them... they are left forgotten. It would not do after all, to destroy our illusions of might."

The topic went into a strange direction, Harry thought as he listened to the headmasters words, but he didn't interrupt him. Those were the times, when the true brilliance of the older man shone through.

"So we let them fade into obscurity as they could threaten our self-worth; threaten our feeling that everything we do, we control ourselves. What you felt, Harry, was magic in its rarest and purest form... We can guide magic, we can bend it to some extent, but we will never be able to make it obey us completely - magic is sentient and it will behave as such."

"Sentient?" Harry asked, baffled by the concept.

"Yes, sentient. Magic isn't a mindless power given to us by some deity, but a deity all of its own, blessing us with its power. That we cannot control the very nature of magic, that our control over the power within us is only an illusion... it displeased us magical folk and thus the information about it remain forgotten by everyone, but a few."

"So, what I felt..."

"Was magic itself, guiding you on your path. It felt, how you struggled with your summoned snake and decided to help you. It sensed your pure intentions, when you gifted the Merfolk your tablet and it helped you..."

Dumbledore turned around and a set of intense, blue eyes stared into his own green orbs.

"You should never fear it, Harry. Be cautious, of course, but never fear it. Your conscientiousness when using these spells, not the magic itself, is the power you have to master in the end."

Harry nodded, but remained silent. Not that he was able to say much on the topic... The headmaster had the habit of dropping bouts of knowledge, that were very hard to digest. Minutes went by and he had to surpress the yawn that tried to escape him, when Dumbledore spoke again.

"Can you endure the inane waffling of an old man for a minute longer?" the headmaster asked and for the first time in weeks, Harry saw a genuine smile appear on the mans face.

"Yes, sir." answered Harry cheekily and grinned back.

"You need a hobby."

"... What?"

What the-

Just go with the flow, Harry thought and nodded seriously.

"Joking aside, I do see that you are strained by the heavy burden of the tournament and I fear it will take its toll, if you don't find something that helps to relax your mind and body."

"Um..." answered Harry eloquently.

"Everyone needs it, so just think about it, Harry - and between us... even after all these years I still wonder what form of relaxation Voldemort has chosen for himself. I'm sure it would make for a terribly amusing tale."

* * *

**Hogwarts - 22. March 1995**

'_Quicquam Velarit - Notice-me-not ward_

_The Quicquam Velarit is one of the three major wards that conceal the presence of something or some place. Its application is tedious, but tremendously rewarding and thus a component of many advanced warding schemes as it hides what needs to be hidden from prying eyes. Muggle, Squibs and average user of magic are unable to identify what lies behind this ward and only those with power, or experience in warding are able to lift its veil of secrecy, revealing what has been concealed._

_The ward was created by __Æ__lfric, Earl of magical Northumbia, in 868 A.D. as the fear towards wizards rose steadily and many of them dreaded that whole revolts would break out soon. To answer this threat and keep his own court save, __Æ__lfric invented the Quicquam Velarit and fled from the Muggle Earls keep, abandoning his position as magical advisor._

_He was blessed by the fates, that the small feethdom he had been rewarded with, years before, lied in a peaceful valley and the only entrance led through a small gate. Intent on saving himself and his magical vassals, he warded the gate and was spared the rage of his muggle contemporary who was surely lusting for revenge, but neither he nor his warriors were able to find the entrance._

_Exactly fifteen runes have to be carved into what has to remain unnoticed and only after linking them to the central rune Algiz are the eighty-seven wand motions to be done._'

Harry closed the book with a suffering groan and secured it in its appropriate shelf after taking the notes he needed. Fifteen runes... Fifteen! His hands would be smeared with blood in the end, no doubt.

And why did it have to be _Algiz_, he thought with disdain as he lazily flicked his wand. In the Elder Futhark of muggles it was easy enough to carve, but as always magicals had to make something simple incredibly complex and thus for the magical _Algiz_, or _Elhaz_ as it was called, many, _many_ embellishments had been added.

"_Contraxi._"

The parchment, quills and the cheap ink pot that were lying on the table shrunk and he secured them in a small satchel on his belt. He used them for his normal school days as they weren't even half as expensive as one piece of Vellum, but nonetheless he treated them with great care. He might have many Galleons now, but that hadn't always been the case and he still vividly remembered his early years in the Dursleys household.

They never laid hands on him and hadn't been physically abusive with the exceptions of small slaps to the back of his head, but the vitriol they spouted whenever he was near, had been hard to swallow. As he only had the barest necessities, he quickly learned about the worth of his possessions - be it personal or material - and it had shaped his beliefs. He would never look down on people using low-grade equipment as he knew exactly how it felt to live in poverty while those around you thrived in their rich lifestyles.

Walking through the library, he gave a respectful nod to Madam Pince and wondered if the usually grumpy librarian had incredible hidden powers. Dumbledore told him that the great assortment of books was sentient, but as the caretaker for them... did Irma Pince see them? It would make sense, he supposed. How could she care for books she wasn't able to see, after all?

The woman struck him as an avid reader, so the question was valid. Did she read them? Has she had access to this incredible accumulation of knowledge for decades and used it? The thought alone made him reconsider how he had treated her over his first three years at Hogwarts. He had seen her only as a nuisance, a bother whenever he had to research important topics for his _adventures_, but what if a hidden well of power, or wisdom lied behind her gruff exterior.

It was funny in a way, that he would have thought such musings wasted months ago, but after only a few lessons with Lady Broadmoor his perceptions had changed so much. Now, whenever he thought about people he met, it was always a notion in his mind to assert their magical power and influence.

"_Corpora Abditum._"

He reapplied his notice-me-not charm and made his way towards his sanctuary while his thoughts starting to wander again, when he passed Neville in the old corridors. Neville Longbottom, scion and lone heir to house Longbottom. A house that had, according to the few informations he knew, a long lasting alliance with house Potter.

Aside from that, Neville was just a likable, if shy dorm mate. That was the impression everyone had of him, but Harry looked deeper then those people, searching for the qualities that could make him a valuable ally, if not a friend.

It was rumored that he was near Squib-level, barely able to pass classes in order to advance to the next year, but was he really? Would have Hogwarts magic recorded him for education in her hallowed halls, if that was really the case? He couldn't help but wonder, if there were some reasons as to why he had so much problem with the curriculum and the magicks taught at the castle.

His practically non-existent self-confidence was a given, but could one really say that he had no courage? Hadn't the Sorting hat seen something in Nevilles mind, that made it sort him in Gryffindor instead of Hufflepuff, despite his fierce loyalty?

Of course it had and Harry remembered all to well the sudden bouts of incredible courage that Neville displayed some times. Had he not tried to stop them in their first year? Yes, he did try and although he had failed to stop them, he nevertheless stood against them, upholding his beliefs of what was right.

Or the fact that he asked a girl to the Yuletide ball, when so many of his dorm mates had problems and never managed it, but what was it that inspired such sudden confidence in him?

And, of course, the last piece of well known information about him - his insanely skilled hands at Herbology. Many people laughed about it, believing that potting plants and caring for them didn't need magic, but Harry knew they were wrong. Magical plants were only harmless throughout the earlier years at Hogwarts and continued to increase in their threat-level as the school years went by.

So how was it, that someone with seemingly no innate talent at any other magical branch, be it simple Transfiguration or Charms, had such profound power to grow and care for the most hazardous plants the magical world had to offer?

How was he able to subdue a _Ayahuasca Liane_ - a plant with incredible potential in healing rituals, but with the same properties as the Devil's snare and fire-resistant to boot - when he didn't manage to turn beetles into buttons?

How could he care for a _Vevenatos bush_ that expelled terribly potent poison into the air, when the mere thought about DaDa lessons made him shiver in fright?

Neville Longbottom was an enigma, Harry decided as he reached his room and closed the door behind him. He would continue to observe him and spend kind words as one could never know, when such people rose above their fears and inabilities, becoming Paragons of light themselves.

With a flick of his wand, he transfigured a quill into a knife and murmured the incantations of _Conduro_ and _Accuo_ - the hardening and sharping charms. The morning was still in its early stages, but he would need a long,_ long _time until all fifteen runes were etched into the metallic frame of the door... possibly the rest of the day.

* * *

He smiled as he slowly leaned back against the old tree, centuries old, that bathed him in its shadows. Grass rustled with every movement of his body and his gaze directed itself towards the horizon, where Hogwarts towered proudly over the castle grounds. Not many students frequented the area, the closeness of the forbidden forest evoking anxiety in most of them, but Harry had long lost his fear for dark places and their dangers - for him and his current occupation, no other place could be better.

In a few minutes the sky would darken, calling the moon to change its place with the sun, but Harry didn't care. The _Quicquam Velarit _had worked and now he had the time to indulge in his new hobby. It was truly a wonderful suggestion of the headmaster to find something relaxing, he mused and snickered.

Thoughtfully he chewed on his newly acquired pipe, a simple wooden one without fancy carvings, and inhaled deeply, savoring the taste of spicy tobacco. Somehow he doubted that Dumbledore meant smoking, when he advised him to find something that would take the edge off after a strenuous day, but the image of the mans incredulous expression should he learn about it, was quite amusing.

He had looked through several tomes in the library already, making it his mission to research the cure for lung damage to appease the headmaster the next time he saw him. Of course, he also had an ace in his sleeve in case the old man wouldn't be swayed by his compelling arguments; an ace that would surely bring a smile on the headmasters wrinkled face.

Well, he would be mortified if someone else saw his ace, as it was somewhat peculiar even for his standards and the thought of spreading rumors about it was better left alone. The heavy book on his lap contained many tales, not of the often gruesome and bloody variant he used to read, but stories, legends and myths designed for children.

It felt liberating, he supposed, that he who never had enjoyed the amazing wonders of a good childhood, was finally able to indulge in something as simple as a children's book. Maybe, he could make a living as a story-teller after his Hogwarts years have ended? Like the bards of times long forgotten, traveling from magical settlement to magical settlement and regaling attentive little kids with mysterious and happy stories.

He exhaled slowly, failing to form any shapes with the smoke emitting from his mouth. Or, he just took the one single book he had managed to nick from Dudley way too serious. Next thing he knew, he would call himself Mithrandir and journey the world on top of a small cart, pulled by the might of a beautiful white horse.

These thoughts were inconsequential anyway as long as the danger of Voldemort lurked just around the corner, threatening the wizarding world and through that, everything he held dear.

He was no Gandalf, but maybe... Why not? Clearing his throat, he threw a last look at the open book and took his wand out of its sheath. A small wave later and several pebbles had been transfigured into small figurines, each resembling a knight in full armor.

"The tale you're about to hear today, is called _The well of Ascalon_." The little knights formed a circle and started to dance in a weird pattern.

"Many years ago, the legendary king Arthur and his court celebrated Whitsuntide with a tremendous feast. It is said, that the feast had been so great, not one drop of pumpkin juice remained throughout the lands!"

Another puff of smoke escaped his mouth.

"The well known knight, Kalogrenant, had traveled through the country far and wide and when he returned, seeing the roaring fires of the great feast, he wasted no time to tell all about the tales, he had heard on his long and dangerous journey.

'I met a man living in the wild, clothed in nothing else but rags and he told me about a mystical idyll, where a magical well is hidden!' he said and all the valiant people of king Arthurs court crowded around him, listening to his words."

Harry swished his wand and the figurines made a circle around the statue of Kalogrenant.

"'And what did you do?' asked Iwein, a relative of Kalogrenant. To whom the knight answered: 'I wandered through all the known parts of the forest until I found the well, but once I got the water out of it, I fell and spilled it.'"

The transfigured knight made the impression of slipping on a banana.

"And Kalogrenant told them about what happened after the water had been spilled, because it was indeed magical water! It took, but seconds until the weather changed and Kalogrenant was drenched to the bones, large thunderclouds assembling above him! For magic is a harsh mistress to those, who waste her possessions."

"_Agumenti._" he quietly said the incantation and the figurine of Kalogrenant was flushed away by the small beam of water that left his wand.

Just as he was about to continue a rustling sound to his left made him snap his neck towards it and when he saw the cause for the disturbance, he started to blush slightly.

There stood Fleur in all her glory and he groaned, inwardly lamenting that it was _always_ him, getting discovered in such embarrassing moments. She smirked and her eyes were filled with mirth...

"What an enchanting tale, 'arry." she laughed and to his great consternation, started to clap her hands excitedly. "Do continue! I want to know more about the _valiant_ Knight Kalogrenant."

"Fleur..."

How utterly and terrifyingly embarrassing...

The French Veelas smirk widened and with impossible grace she slid to the ground, taking place next to him. There was no way to talk himself out of that one. No way, but the truth.

"Fleur, I-"

"It's an interesting occupation, is it not?" she asked and for a moment he was baffled. He heard no sarcasm in her words and that at least he had expected. Not just from her, but from anyone who would have run into him, telling stories to himself.

"It is..." he said with hesitation.

"Grand-mere had a story teller visit us once and he was incredible! Gabby didn't understand much, of course, but the man told us tales for hours. It was beautiful."

"Really? I thought they didn't exist anymore."

Fleur nodded and he noticed a reminiscent smile playing on her lips. "Non, but they are rare. Very rare. Grand-mere said, that her friend had traveled to nearly all places our world has to offer, seeing and hearing things he would later build into many of his fascinating tales."

"He must have seen many places." Harry said and got a far away look in his eyes. Wouldn't it be glorious, to journey over the world like that man had done? It definitely beat any other job in the magical world he could think of.

"I guess he did. He was quite old, after all. Unfortunately, we never saw him again and grand-mere remains tight-lipped... Do you want to become a story teller?"

"Maybe," he answered. "but at the moment it's more of a relaxation from the tournament."

"Oh? It looked relatively easy for you, 'arry. I assumed that you have no problems with it." she said with curiosity written all over her face and a bitter laugh escaped him. A laugh that had probably startled Fleur, as it was a far cry from the usual cheerful nature he had showed her before.

He would never know, what exactly had moved him that day to talk with her, but soon the words were leaving his mouth.

"Easy? Day for day I train and train and train... just to have a chance of surviving that blasted thing! And then, the second task..."

"The large snake?" she asked.

"Not just that... I killed dozens of Merpeople, because they were in my way. Dozens! And no one but Dumbledore seems to care! It sickens me. I sicken me."

Fleur remained silent during his much needed venting and he was thankful for it. "I brought terrible magic into their lives! So terrible that it subdued them on the spot! That's just twisted beyond belief..."

In one motion, Fleur moved over and laid her arms around him.

"'arry." she whispered in his ears, understanding that she was one of the only persons that had ever seen him so vulnerable. "That you are frightened by your own magic... it shows me that it wasn't created by a lust for power, but necessity."

Her hands stroked his back soothingly and she looked directly into his eyes. "We didn't know... We couldn't know, that the hostages weren't in danger."

"But-"

"Shh." A well manicured finger sealed his lips. "We couldn't know, 'arry and I will always be thankful to you for saving my little sister."

She held him as sobs wracked his body and tears leaked out of his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried in someones arms. Had there even been a last time? He didn't know and didn't care at the moment.

"Gabby is my everything. I was dying with fright and you saved her. You saved her, 'arry!" she whispered. "And let no one tell you otherwise..."

* * *

**AN: **Aaand that's it! Next chapter will take some time as university starts again in a week... but I promise to try my best and up new chapters regularly.

Btw. for those who are interested in the 'tale' Harry told: Last semester I had to read a book called _Iwein. _About 8000 verses of old German... Wasn't really pleasant, but at least the story behind it was somewhat interesting. Harry told a very shortened and abridged version of the real intro and I apologize for any mistakes I made. It took some time to translate old German into normal German and then into English ^_^

Someone asked for a list of the new spells I invented, but as it would make the AN pretty long I wonder if I should really do it. Your opinions will be included!


	8. Chapter 8

Here's the chapter eight! I got some flack for the last one, but I can't say it wasn't expected. Dumbledore is probably one of the most controversial characters in the books and I somehow anticipated that some people would be quick to jump the band-wagon of bashers, if he even steps one toe out of line. To the one that complain about Harry being a little emo bitch: well, I don't know about you, but I would be pretty upset if I learned that I killed people and it hadn't been necessary in the end. Harry had no choice at that moment, granted, but that doesn't mean he shouldn't apologize for it afterward Oo I know I would do it, but maybe I'm just different.

Anyway, reviews are welcome as always and I'm happy to answer any questions you have.

In the AN, you'll find a short list of the spells used in this chapter.

* * *

**Magicks of the Arcane**

Chapter VIII

* * *

**Hogwarts - 29. March 1995**

It took several days, even after his talk with Fleur, until Harry finally stopped to wallow in guilt. The events that took place down in the lake had been horrific and would always remain a black mark in his life, but there were other things he needed to concentrate on. Besides, there wasn't much he could do anyway as Murcus made it quite clear that he wasn't welcome in Sul'adan, even if he had accepted his apology.

But now, that he had the time to do other things, Harry found himself still lonely and wondered what he could do against it. To talk with Neville was always an option, but the boy nearly wilted under attention and that was exactly what Harry would bring with him, as most of the school currently regarded him as a budding dark lord.

No, Neville had enough problems as it was and there was no need to add to them.

At least, some students had lost their fear as the quickly written letters they sent to their parents came back answered and the adults weren't of the opinion that he was going dark. Through the grapevine he even got to know why everyone feared him and once again it left him astounded by the stupidity of some of them.

It wasn't the magic itself that he had called upon, but the snake. It was the fact that it had been a freaking snake.

A snake.

Harry didn't understand why the symbol of a snake left Hogwarts' population shivering in fright, when the parents, who had way more reasons to fear it, remained calm and appreciative of the magic. Maybe it had something to do with the happenings of his second year, but in the end it didn't matter. He was sure that if he had summoned a watery phoenix that day, they would consider him to be Dumbledore's secret grandson.

Such was the nature of Hogwarts' rumor mill.

And there, he went off on a tangent again.

So, who else could he visit to alleviate his boredom? Fleur went off to god knows where and he hadn't seen her since their talk. Which was a shame, really. The woman was great and he enjoyed the time spent with her. Unfortunately, she still considered him to be too young for a relationship with her. In a few years, when the matter of age blurred that would be different, he hoped.

Now, Daphne was a topic all in itself. The sex with her had been amazing and as a teenager with a healthy sex drive and hormones, Harry lusted after more. He took a bite from the forbidden fruit and wanted to do so again, but the Daphne wasn't an option anymore.

He tried to visit her yesterday and saw her with another Slytherin, probably a fifth year. At first, it angered him, but after a while he calmed down and to his great surprise wasn't too bothered by it. A relationship with her had been impossible from the start as the controversies between their houses were still going strong. It would have made life incredibly complicated if they got together.

Daphne was a woman that furthered her standing in the morning, politicized at noon and stabbed her enemies in the evening. It was after all, how she had been brought up.

The perfect pureblood princess.

She truly was a credit to Slytherin, he thought. If Daphne was attracted by power, she would come back sooner or later, but for now the topic was closed.

Was it a testament to how poorly his social connections were, if he had only three people to think about? Dumbledore didn't enter the equation as he was way too old. Harry looked up to the man no doubt, but he wasn't someone that would laze with him under the trees and play exploding snap.

And sex with the older man... he didn't even want to think about it.

It was interesting enough to observe the social interactions of his former friends, but he didn't dwell too much on the thoughts of them. Ron made good friends with Seamus and Dean, and had stopped to slander him at every turn. Yet, he kept his distance and that was just fine with Harry. He didn't hate him, but that didn't meant he wanted to have him as a friend again.

Hermione had made her own friends with Ginny and to his great surprise, Luna. He wondered how that came about... she probably saw the bullying and started a crusade to save the girl. That was after all, Hermione's way to solve problems.

And that still didn't gave him any clues as to whom he could do something with.

Maybe he could visit Hagrid? It was always an option, but then again, he really wasn't in the mood to hear about all the incredible dangerous creatures the man was currently raising.

Blast-Ended Skrewts were abominations taken straight from hell.

Now that was an amusing image. Hagrid, clothed in his cloak and with the crossbow slung over his arm, descending through the gates of hell and muttering about his lovely animals. The man really had a penchant for dangerous creatures that was second to none.

Harry leaned back in his chair, looked up to the ceiling and a sigh escaped him. What to do, what to do...

He could prepare for the third task of course, but he had done so for the last months already and became weary of it. There wasn't much else he could do without knowing exactly what would await him.

Maybe... an idea suddenly formed in his mind.

Yes, that had the potential, he thought and rummaged through the charmed drawer of his desk. Carefully, he took the Marauder's map out of it.

"I solemnly swear, I'm up to no good." he said.

Harry tapped the map with his wand and as always was fascinated by the patters of ink that slowly formed on the parchment.

"Where is she, where is she..." he muttered and his eyes trailed over the map.

"There she is!"

Melanie Sheffield, a fifth year Ravenclaw in possession of a magnificent pair of tits and with a sweet disposition towards him. Now that was a goal worthy of pursuit, he thought. She was currently in the library.

Harry rose from his chair, quickly pocketed the map and put the notice-me-not charm around him. It was still embarrassing to think about his violent departure, when he had been confronted by the press. Elize would skin him alive no doubt, the next time he saw her.

It confused him though, that the press hadn't published anything about his outburst as if they suddenly got compassionate.

At the moment that didn't matter however, and he walked to the library, taking several secret passages and avoided other students where he could. When he entered, the first thing he noticed was something not entirely anticipated.

The library was packed.

Harry looked around, but every desk was occupied by people, be it a single person or a group of them.

That needed some consideration, he thought. He was still concealed by his charm, so there was no need to rush in hardheadedly. Harry looked around and observed the library. Melanie sat alone at a small table usually meant for only one person, but that could be occupied by two if needed be.

That was good.

Now, he had to decide which book to take. Harry would pretend to study, that much was clear, but it had to look realistic. He didn't think it would go over well if he suddenly started to delve into the mysterious branch of Divination. Every self-respecting Ravenclaw hated the class with a passion. Which was entirely appropriate, he thought.

Briefly, he wondered if it was the profession itself that was so murky, or if it was only the professor they had. He just couldn't imagine that Trewlaney was a prime representation for her art.

He made his decision and walked over to a dusty shelf that contained tomes about transfiguration and pulled out a book for sixth years. It wasn't too advanced to be questioned, but good enough to impress.

Harry left the library and re-entered it, this time without the charm. Instantly, he gained the attention of several students, but the Ravenclaws took only seconds until their noses were buried into their books once again.

With the book in his hands, he walked over to the table where Melanie sat at.

"Excuse me."

The girl looked up and her eyes widened for a short moment as she recognized him.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" he asked and thumbed over his shoulder. "The other tables are packed."

And indeed, it was true. The other tables were occupied to such an extent that not even a little child could fit into the gaps between the students.

"Yes, sure. Have a seat." she said.

Harry's left eyebrow rose and she quickly noticed her mistake. There were no free chairs around.

"Oh..."

Was she afraid that he wouldn't sit with her now? The situation couldn't get any better, he thought as he answered.

"Eh, don't worry about that. May I?"

Harry pointed towards one of the broken quills that laid discarded next to her ink pot. She looked confused, but agreed and nodded her head. Harry drew his wand and picked the quill from the desk, laying it on the floor.

As non-permanent transfiguration didn't need an incantation, he only wove his wand and changed the quill into a comfortable armchair. By her astonished look, he saw that he had impressed her and that was exactly what he aimed for.

"Sorry for the trouble." he said.

Melanie nodded hesitantly and he seated himself, opening the book about transfiguration to uphold his ruse.

It were cruel thirty minutes in which he pretended to study. The plan he devised had been based on her taking the chance to talk with him, but maybe that was a bit too optimistic for a Ravenclaw in the library. If he had to read one more sentence about things he already knew, he would go bonkers...

Bonkers. Now that was an interesting idea, he thought and already a new plan formed in his mind.

"Useless..."

He closed the book with a thud, his face mirroring the confusion he felt seconds ago. Melanie looked up and saw the frustration on his face that was half-played, half-true.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"It doesn't have what I need," he pointed towards the closed tome. "and with the next task looming over my head, I can't really concentrate anyway."

He knew that he had to be careful with any statements regarding the usefulness of books. Ravenclaws were generally very picky about them.

Melanie obviously didn't know what to say to that, but was that sympathy he saw in her eyes? Oh yes, it was.

"I'm going for a walk..."

Harry sighed and vanished the chair with a flick of his wand. He made to walk away, but after one step suddenly turned around.

"Say, you want to come too? It's pretty boring alone." he said.

The question startled Melanie, as was shown by her darting looks between her books and him. Luckily, he won. It would have been a serious blow to his self-esteem if she chose the books over him.

"Sure. Just let me pack my things."

And with those words it was done. She quickly stuffed her parchments and quills into a small bag and together they left the library. It wasn't until they nearly reached the grounds that Harry spoke again.

"I never asked your name..."

"I'm Melanie." she answered.

Harry grinned at her and noticed gleefully the slight blush that adorned her cheeks. That went wonderful!

"I'm Harry." he said and she looked at him like he had grown a second head. "Just to be polite, you know?" he elaborated.

"I doubt that anyone doesn't know your name."

"True."

They walked alongside the lake and talked about various topics, most of which bored him slightly. That was the problem with Ravenclaws...

"...so, if you add the Armadillo bile after the Bundimum secretion it should lessen the possible violent reactions the potion could cause."

And did it have to be potions of all things?

"Not bad. Thanks Melanie. That should make lessons with Snape somewhat easier."

"Snape! That git has been unbelievable in the last three months!"

Harry vaguely remembered the conversation he had overheard between her and her friends. Right, it was his fault.

"Unbelievable? More along the lines of insane." he said.

"Yeah, we still don't know why his mood worsened like that."

Decisions, decisions. Did he tell her that it was his doing? On one hand, trouble making could be endearing to some girls, but on the other it could horribly backfire.

"Well, I think that's my fault." he said nonchalantly. "He was about to find me in the halls after curfew and I just... _reacted_."

"I ought to throttle you!" she said, but started to giggle soon afterward.

"What did you do to him?" she asked.

"I animated the statue on the fountain. You know, that one in the courtyard just in front of the clock tower."

Her eyes widened. "And?"

"It attacked him. He hasn't found the culprit since then."

Harry smirked at her and she started to laugh. It was good that he had gone with his instincts in this matter. The laughter ended abruptly however, when Melanie saw where they were headed to.

"Harry! That's the forbidden forest!" she said.

He noticed how her anxiety rose in the presence of the forest and inwardly lamented the unfounded fear for that place.

"Where not going into it. Don't worry, Melanie, I promise. Just to a place near it."

Harry's words reassured her a bit, but she still wasn't fully convinced. It was time to divert her attention a bit, he thought.

"I want to show you place that professor Lupin took me to."

"Professor Lupin? Why would the professor show you something?" she asked, her attention completely on him and far away from the forest.

"He was a good friend of my parents. McGonagall told me that he and my dad were like brothers back in their Hogwarts' years."

"Wow. Really?"

"Yep. If he had the time for it, we often walked on the grounds last year. He told me stories about my dad, you know? According to him, he was an incredible prankster and troublemaker." he said.

Melanie couldn't contain it and a giggle escaped her.

"It's something you inherited, huh?"

"Looks like it."

That was close, Harry thought. He successfully directed the topic away from the forest to Moony and before the issue about his fuzzy problem crept up, to his dad. He didn't know her opinion on werewolves and wasn't keen on finding out if she was a bigot. Their talk had been enjoyable so far and to find out that she had a similar stance to Malfoy would seriously turn him off.

"Here we are." he said.

They stood in front of a large stone where both of them could sit and that overlooked the lake, but was still enshrouded by several trees, making it a very private place. It was a nice place. At least, Harry thought so.

"Wow, it's beautiful." Melanie said and looked around. "I've never been in that area before."

"It's not well known, I think. Professor Lupin mentioned that it was a great source of amusement for him."

"Huh, how so?"

"It seems like he often interrupted my parents in their private moments when they were here." he said and smiled.

He didn't know why he told her all those things, but it felt nice just to talk about them. The place held memories of his parents and somehow it made him happy to share them.

"No way! There's no way that professor Lupin was a troublemaker as well!"

"You would be surprised. The whole lot of them were pranksters."

Harry chuckled, but suddenly stopped. He noticed his mistake too late.

"The whole lot? Who else? They must have been legendary at Hogwarts!" Melanie asked.

That was a question he had to handle carefully. She was nice no doubt, but he wouldn't trust her with any information about Sirius and _Pettigrew_.

"I think they were. Them and their year mates." he answered cautiously.

"Nice! I wonder what they became after school. Do you know it?"

it were always the innocent questions that brought him into trouble, he thought. For a moment, the morbid answer of dead and unemployed ran through his mind, but it wouldn't do the atmosphere any favor.

"Dad became an Auror as far as I know and professor Lupin is taking the odd job here and there." he said and continued before she could be reminded of Moony's problem. "Don't really know what the others currently do," _groveling through dirt and hiding, or fleeing from the law _"but I imagine they're involved in some business or politics."

She listened attentively and luckily hummed in agreement with his last guess.

"Makes me wonder what I will do after Hogwarts." she said.

"No idea at all?"

Finally he managed to get the conversation into a safe-zone.

"Well, I want to become a potion mistress, but Snape makes that pretty hard..."

Harry nodded emphatically. He understood very well how a professor like Snape could make such an endeavor incredibly difficult.

"Eh, don't worry about the bat. You're what now, fifth year?"

"Yup. Fifth year Ravenclaw." she answered.

"See? You only got Snape for two more years. That's bad in itself, but it could be worse. Imagine you were still a firstie."

Harry himself was pretty horrified by such a prospect.

"Easy to say, but I got OWLs this year and the git only accepts straight O-students in his NEWT class."

Straight O's? The man was insane, Harry thought. He understood her hesitation a lot better now, but also knew the perfect tidbit of information to reassure her.

"That's harsh, but I don't think it will be a problem. I heard that the examiner for the OWLs isn't Snape, but someone from the ministry."

Inwardly, he thanked the twins for mentioning that particular information during the summer. They had loudly complained to their mother that the OWLs left them way too exhausted to degnome the garden. Mrs. Weasley, of course, hadn't been swayed by their compelling arguments.

"That's a relief." she said ans sighed.

"What about you? Do you have some plans for the future?"

Safe-zone my ass, Harry thought. He fell directly into the next fire pit, but at least it wasn't as hot as the last one. He would be sooner caught dead, than reveal his dreams about becoming a story teller. It bothered him if other people knew about it, even if he didn't know why.

"Not concrete ones, no. Maybe traveling for a bit. You know, finding places like this all over the world."

"Wow, that would be nice I think. Seeing all the interesting things like pyramids or the Pantheon." she said.

Harry was just about to propose that she could accompany him and search for rare ingredients, when she took a look at her watch and hastily rose from the stone.

What the fuckery, Harry thought. The proposition he wanted to make was exactly what he needed to get a bit closer to her, but her sudden change in position made him worry about that prospect.

"Damn! I'm sorry, Harry, but I've gotta go! I promised my friends to meet them in the common room like half an hour ago!"

She didn't even bother to wait for a reply and tore away, leaving a thoroughly frustrated Harry behind. He rose himself and looked down at the bulge in his pants that he had carefully concealed throughout the conversation. The girl was hot after all.

"Stay still. I tried my best, really!"

* * *

**Hogwarts - 17. April 1995**

To wander alone through the small village of Hogsmead was a unique experience, Harry surmised as he entered the Three Broomsticks. It implied of course, that he had been pretty lonely on his walk through the settlement, but it wasn't necessarily unpleasant. For the first time since he started to visit Hogsmead in his third year, Harry was able to thoroughly explore it without someone to pull him into shops that held no interest for him.

He had been fortunate enough to stumble upon a small store that was somewhat hidden in a backyard and called itself _What Wizards Wore Yesterday_. The shop held an assortment of odd little trinkets and various things that magical folk had either lost or sold over the decades of its existence. Old broomsticks, portraits that no one wanted...

Harry had been fascinated by it and spent hours in the place until he finally bought a plain pocket watch that was currently secured in his robe.

"What can I get you, Mr. Potter?"

The cheerful voice of Madam Rosmerta broke him out of his thoughts.

"Butterbeer, please." he answered.

Somehow he doubted that the woman would sell him Firewhiskey.

"Of course. It will be ready in a moment."

Madam Rosmerta notified a waitress and ran off to the next customer. The pub wasn't overly packed, but it was still a busy day for her and the rush of students that came with a Hogsmead weekend didn't help the matter. He looked through the room and found a table, partially concealed in shadows, that suited him just right.

It was time to relax from a long day spent researching, training and walking around, he thought as he seated himself and paid the beautiful waitress eighty knuts for his keg of butterbeer. Harry leaned back in his chair, letting the peaceful atmosphere take effect, and unhooked the pipe from his belt. He took his sweet time to stuff it with the expensive _Tilbury_ tobacco he had bought hours ago, and soon the distinct aroma filled his nostrils.

Nearly an hour went by in which he lazed around and inconspicuously observed the other patrons, but as he was about to signal the Madam for another keg, a familiar sensation overcame him.

A _very_ familiar sensation.

He wondered if the allure of Veelas worked like a sonar, because as soon as Fleur entered the pub with her little sister in tow, she knew exactly where he was and walked straight towards him, completely ignoring the other people. With impossible grace, the sisters slid into the seats next to him.

"Hey, Fleur." he said and smiled at them.

"Hello, 'ar-"

"Bonjour, 'arry!"

Gabrielle interrupted her sister and immediately started to ramble in French, a language he understood very little of. Her older sister however, only looked exasperated and rolled her eyes. To Harry, it seemed like this was a regular occurrence.

After the little girl still hadn't taken breath and was about to continue, Fleur leaned over and whispered something in her ear. It was probably something along the lines of him not understanding French, he thought amused.

"I'm sorry, 'arry. She wanted to meet you ever since the task."

"No problem." he said. "Though, I thought she would go home a few days afterward. How come she's still here?"

"Our parents want to watch the next task and she begged them to stay. Of course, they couldn't resist her."

That was a sentiment, Harry could fully agree on as he couldn't have resisted her either. The girl was simply adorable... He couldn't even entertain the thought of saying no to her if she would use puppy eyes.

"So, she's staying with you?" he asked.

"_Oui_, in the Beauxbaton's carriages. It's going to cost me my last nerves!"

"It's going to be fine, I'm sure. Doesn't make it easier for you to train, though."

It was true after all. He didn't think it would be easy to train, when a little girl that needed constant supervision ran around the premise.

"To be 'onest, I don't care anymore."

That threw him for a loop. She didn't care anymore? Since when? It was a far cry from the self-assured and haughty woman he had met when the goblet spat out his name.

"The second task... it showed me where my priorities should be." she said and Harry didn't miss the loving tone in her voice, nor the fond look she gave Gabrielle. It must have been cruel beyond imagination for her to be confronted with the possible death of her sister.

He really had to remind himself that he wasn't the only one to face his fears in the tournament.

Minutes were spent in peaceful silence and both girls were amused by Harry who tried and failed to form recognizable shapes with the smoke that left his mouth. Suddenly, Gabrielle started to talk in French again and it must have been something extremely funny, because her usually composed sister started to laugh.

"What is it?" he asked.

"She- She want you to tell a story."

A story? Had she told her sister about his secret ambition? He looked towards Fleur and the guilty expression on her face only furthered his suspicion. Dang, hopefully the girl was able to keep it a secret.

"Fleur..." he groaned and buried his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry, 'arry. We talked about grand-mere and it... just slipped."

He gave her a halfhearted glare, but noticed Gabrielle's pleading look. How was he supposed to fight against _that_?

"A story, huh? Fine."

What story could he tell them? Maybe it shouldn't be a story as they were usually pretty long, but a legend. Yes, a legend would work well, he thought.

Half an hour went by and he regaled them with a tale about an artifact he had read about during his search about _Godsögnsvanir_, the magical harp in Dumbledore's office_. _It was a brush, made and charmed by Cai Lun, the man who invented the first known technique to produce paper. It was said that the brush could make even the most awful novice paint a beautiful picture.

These claims were never confirmed, but during the millenniums it was often seen in the hands of incredible successful artists, which gave the statement some credence. During the 16th century, the brush seemingly vanished and had yet to be seen again.

Harry told them all he knew about the magical brush and gave Fleur enough time in between to translate his words, but when Gabby started to yawn it was obviously time to end the whole thing. After all, she was still a child and needed her sleep.

Fleur rose from her seat and gave him a hug.

"Goodnight, 'arry." she said and when he knelt down to Gabrielle, he was somewhat surprised by the sloppy kiss that landed on his cheek.

"_Au revoir_, 'arry!"

Well, at least he had been kissed by one girl this month, he thought and chuckled as they walked away.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 23. April 1995**

'_Parvos Dolorosus Pungo - Mild pain ward - Stinging hex_

_The warding branch concerning the Parvos Dolorosus schemes, the mild pain wards, is a vast field and there is an unimaginable amount of them coursing through every place on this world. They are, as the name implies, used to lightly harm anyone who breaches or activates them and are often implemented as a deterrent for intruders._

_As these kind of wards always need a certain trigger, they can only be used if keyed into another ward that enables some form of target recognition. Keyed into proximity wards, the pain will befall those that breach it. Keyed into a ward that recognizes bad intentions towards either the caster or the area, the pain will come swiftly for the intruder. That principle is applicable to every mild pain ward. _

_The Parvos Dolorosus Pungo sends Mild stinging hexes at anyone who dares to activate it._'

Slowly, but surely the whole warding business went over his head, Harry thought as he prepared everything necessary for his next project. It wasn't as if the ward itself was particular difficult, but very soon it would become hard to overlook everything in his scheme.

Honestly, he keyed the _Mala Fides_ into the _Certior Fieri Proximitas_ and now had to key the _Parvos Dolorosus Pungo_ into the _Mala Fides_? His respect for professional warder rose by the minute.

Harry vaguely remembered a conversation he had with Dumbledore about offensive wards at Hogwarts, but he wasn't sure. They had consumed copious amounts of alcoholic beverages that evening. However, if memory served him right, and he was by no means sure that it did, then the headmaster told him that he could only use mild pain wards as everything else was too extreme for a school.

He didn't like it, but he could understand it.

For example, Harry didn't know if pranks counted as malicious intent and the picture of small first years running around, dodging carelessly thrown _Reductos_ wasn't that funny.

"_Parvos Dolorosus Pungo!_"

A red dome expanded from his wand and vanished as soon as it reached the corners of his sanctuary. Now, he only had to test if the ward worked and quickly transfigured a quill into a bird that he charmed to attack him.

The avian took one step towards him and instantly a small beam of orange light hit it.

It worked!

Quickly, before anyone could accuse him of animal cruelty, he vanished the bird.

* * *

"Sir!" he cried out as he finally saw Dumbledore, who was just about to walk around a corner.

The headmaster turned around and was surprised to see Harry run towards him at full speed. A bag filled with sweets was loosely gripped in his hands.

"What's the matter, Harry?" he asked as he scanned the hallways, looking for possible attackers. When he came up empty however, he thought about the possible things Harry might wanted to talk about.

"I-" Harry took a deep breath. "I have a question, sir."

Dumbledore's brows rose and he regarded the young man in front of him, who had to support himself against a wall, gasping for air.

"And you ran all the way for it?" he asked.

"Your movements in the last hour have been incredibly erratic, sir."

Dumbledore grinned. What cheek the boy showed! He basically threw his own words in his face!

"Well, here I am."

The headmaster took a obviously mocking look around the corridor to see if there were any other Dumbledore's and Harry had to squash the rude reply that lingered on his tongue.

"Is- Is it possible for me to leave the castle and visit Diagon Alley?" he asked.

"There is always a possibility, Harry."

Did the man eat too many sweets? Though, that sly smirk of him was pretty bad-ass, Harry thought. Still, the older man knew exactly how infuriating such answers were and worse, he had fun while telling them.

"Sir..." he groaned.

"It would help if you told me why you want to visit the alley."

"I want a library and need the books for it." Harry answered.

With all the charms, transfigurations and wards that he had applied to his room over the last months, it had become extremely comfortable, but it still wasn't complete. The library was the last piece that he missed and everything else afterward would be just fine tuning.

"A library? That's a splendid idea, but are you sure about this?" the headmaster asked.

Harry prided himself in his wards and was about to say so, when Dumbledore's hand rose, indicating that he wasn't finished with speaking.

"The dorms, and therefore the trunks in it, are heavily warded against theft, but this protection is missing in the rest of Hogwarts. You can do it of course, but be aware that should your books be stolen, Hogwarts won't pay for them." he said.

"We would help you to find them, but if they are truly lost, not replace them."

It was an important decision and Harry took his time to consider it carefully.

"Do you think the other students could break my wards?" he asked. He didn't mention Snape in that statement however, as the headmaster still trusted the greasy git. Why, only he knew.

"That depends on the wards you built. Hogwarts only notified me that you started to secure your room, not which wards you chose."

"Proximity, intent, notice-me-not and mild pain."

For a moment the headmaster looked surprised, but his look soon changed into a pleased expression.

"That's a pretty good scheme." the older man said and muttered something else under his breath that sounded like _Especially for a novice in the art_. It felt nice to think that the headmaster complimented him.

"Warding is a topic that's only shortly touched on during the end of your seventh year. I can only think of two Ravenclaw students that could be able to break your proximity ward and subsequently the ones keyed into it. This shouldn't pose a problem though, as they lack the power to unravel your concealing ward..."

"So, can I go to Diagon, sir?"

Dumbledore looked at him and sighed. "If you go, then the usual safety measures apply. Your name is Nathal Broadmoor and you're a relative of Elize."

"Yes!"

"Do you still have enough _Dolus Pulvisculus_?" he asked and Harry thought about the blue powder that had helped him tremendously to keep his identity a secret during his etiquette lessons.

"Should be enough for a day, sir."

"Good. If you need more of it, please tell me in advance. It's quite difficult to make."

Difficult to make? If it was difficult to make for Dumbledore, then it was probably impossible for anyone else, he thought and nodded eagerly, happy that the headmaster granted his request. He had no illusions and knew that Dumbledore favored him on some level.

"Well, if you're careful, then the second day of the next month is yours." he said and looked on his watch. "I must bid you farewell for now. Paperwork calls..."

Instantly, Dumbledore vanished. Harry really needed to learn that trick.

* * *

**Diagon Alley - 2. May 1995**

Diagon Alley was bustling with activity as Harry stumbled out of the fireplace, cursing the violent method of transportation under his breath. He absolutely hated the floo... He swished his wand and the soot covering his robes vanished, courtesy of a simple _Evanesco_.

He hoped his concealment had survived the trip.

"What can I do for you, young sir?"

Tom, the barkeeper of the Leaky Cauldron hobbled towards him, a toothy smile plastered on his face. Well, as toothy as a smile could be without teeth. It was rather obvious that the man had seen his sudden entrance and found it to be a great source of amusement.

"Nothing, but thanks, Tom. The floo hates me, that's all." he answered.

Tom, who noticed that the young man wasn't of the snobbish type that sometimes went through his pub, fell back into his usual speech pattern.

"Aye, I could see that m'lad, but don't ya worry. You're not the only one."

"Oh?"

"Arthur Weasley, don't know if ya know him, told me that the Potter boy had the same troubles." he said.

That was a truly, truly unfortunate way to start his day in Diagon Alley, thought Harry. It would be a pretty sad statement to his skills as a spy if he was caught. Especially, if it had barely been seconds after his _mission_ started.

"Floo isn't for some people, I s'ppose."

"True that." he said and tried to appear nonchalant. Less words meant less mistakes, after all.

"Anyway, you want into the alley?" Tom asked.

"Yes, gonna visit my aunt."

"Well, then have fun, lad! Ya know the way?"

"Yes, and thanks."

Tom gave him a last nod and hobbled away to wipe the counter with a white rag. Harry didn't dwadle any longer and went out of the pub. It only took a few taps of his wand and the stone arc materialized in front of him, granting him entrance into the magical place that had captivated him when he was but a first year.

To his right, a man clothed in brown robes looked through the window of _Slug & Jiggers Apothecary_ as if he could determine the quality of their ingredients with naught but his stare. A small family with a son that was around ten years old left a broomstick store a few feet away.

Harry looked around and noticed the small stalls that sold everything a wizard could imagine. They were crowded around the wide place in front of Gringotts, the white marbled building that towered over the rest of the alley.

Someone bumped into him, but Harry managed to stay on his feet.

"Sorry!"

The man that had a wizarding camera hanging from his neck stopped for a moment, apologized and then ran along, soon vanishing into another large building. The Daily Prophet's office, if he remembered right. Harry moved through the throng of busy people, completely captivated by the atmosphere, and wondered which book store he would visit first. There were many of them after all, _Obscurus Books_ and _Flourish and Blotts_ being the most frequented ones.

"Nathal!"

Harry was just about to enter a store, when the cry of his fake identity made him spin around. He looked around and observed the alley until his found the source. Elize sat under a parasol that belonged to the small cafe at the corner and enjoyed a piece of cake. She wasn't someone he had thought he would encounter.

He hid the look of surprise on his face and joined her, quickly ordering a cup of coffee for himself. Dang, the woman looked as beautiful as always and he tried hard to control his baser urges as she unfortunately was also able to recognize perverted thoughts from a mile away.

"Aunt Elize. I didn't think I would meet you here."

"Mhh, I just had some business in the alley." she said and took another small bite from her cheesecake. Holy mother of... even when eating the woman looked sensual, Harry thought.

"Though, it's is a surprise to see you here. I thought you had school."

"The headmaster was kind enough to grant me a day for some business of my own." he answered.

"Oh, he did? I suppose that was after he spoke with me about certain happenings at Hogwarts."

Happenings at ... Not good. Definitely not good. Harry wondered if Dumbledore had arranged it so that she was in the alley, exactly when he entered it. He could just imagine it, the smirk on the older man's face. Maybe they collaborated and the headmaster would soon have his daily dose of laughs, when he watched this conversation in a pensive.

"Happenings at Hogwarts? I'm afraid I can't follow you." he said carefully.

"Yes, he told me about a somehow failed interview and how he had to debate for days with the heads of several papers until they promised not to release it."

Was she giving him the evil-eye? Yes, she was and Harry was sure that he would have been at the mercy of several hexes if they weren't in a public place. Was this Dumbledore's image of protection? Planting them in a place with many witnesses?

"Um, well, I'm sure that whoever had those problems, has learned from his mistakes." he said and failed to notice the sly smirk on her lips.

"Oh, I'm the sure the person has, but nonetheless it would benefit him or _her _if they visited me for some further lessons."

Had she just called him a girl? Not nice.

"I think _he_ will as _he_ is probably lost without your guidance."

Her smirk widened as he emphasized certain words and she gave him a nod, accepting his hidden apology.

"Well, if you excuse me, Nathal, I still have some business. I'll see you around, I'm sure." she said and put some silver sickles on the table before she rose from her seat and walked away.

Harry groaned and slumped back into the chair as soon as she was out of his view. This whole talk about himself in the third person had been incredibly annoying. Maybe, he should consult Sirius and think up a plan to prank Dumbledore, he thought. Some black streaks in his white beard might be nice to look at.

After lamenting his fate for a few minutes and after he had finished his coffee, Harry put his own money on the table and left towards his original destination, _Obscurus Books_. He walked towards the store and a small bell chimed as he entered it and closed the door behind him. The place was dusty and had an ancient quality to it, not unlike Ollivander's.

There was no one behind the reception, so he wandered around and took his time to look through the rows of heavy tomes, stopping at some places to read a bit further into them. It was then, that he encountered a problem he hadn't thought about beforehand. His parents left him a substantial amount of money that would easily carry him through Hogwarts and the first years afterward, but those books were _expensive_!

He assumed that it would be in the the same range as his school books, but these prices were far above the measly Galleons he had spent to purchase his Hogwarts' equipment. He already emptied his pocket when he bought the _Masi-ink_, _Vellum_ and all the other little odds and ends.

To buy more than three of these tomes would seriously rip into his finances, he thought and mused about possible sources of income. Out of the goodness of his heart he had gifted Snape the head of the basilisk, so that venue was closed. The greasy bat hadn't even been thankful...

Maybe he should invest in something, then again, what did he even know about investments? Maybe, in the near future, he would visit Gringotts and talk with the crafty Goblins about this matter.

The name Laxley Chetwin caught his attention as he looked through a book called _Transfigure your home_. Wasn't that the old man that sat with them during the yule ball? Right, Dumbledore had introduced him as a fellow member of the transfiguration guild. Whatever this guild business was about... he would find out later.

After a while, in which the reception had been finally manned, he chose the books he wanted to buy and paid for them, his heart bleeding from the amount of Galleons he just forked over. Three books weren't really a library, but at least he had something interesting to read, now that he also bought another book about myths and legends. _Prijipati - No crop your harvest shall bear!_

It's name was slightly sinister, but who cared? The magical world wasn't just made from good legends_._

* * *

**Hogwarts - 4. May 1995**

The tale of Prijipati had been a morbid and vulgar read, Harry thought as he walked the grounds by night.

The sickle, the story told about, had a bloody history and originated from ancient Egypt. Prijipati's brother, whose name was apparently lost in the weaves of time, became enraged after long years of conflict and dispute. Enraged enough, in fact, that he urinated on the wheat Prijipati had just freshly cut.

Harry snorted, but lost his humor as he thought about the consequences that action had brought with it, because in retaliation, Prijipati gave in to his fury and beheaded his own brother, bathing the sickle in the blood of his own family.

Since then, every time the sickle reappeared in history, the harvest near her founding place had been ruined.

Wherever the sickle was right now, and if the story was indeed true, Harry hoped that it would stay far, _far_ away from Great Britain.

He had no idea what was about to happen soon.

"_Reducto!_"

A stream of red light flew over his head and Harry barely managed to get out of the way, when a second one hit the place he just had stood on.

What the-

"_Stupefy!_" he rolled out of the way and pulled his wand out of his belt.

"_Protego._"

The blue shield erected itself in front of him, but was soon barraged by various different lights. It's duration lessened with each spell that crashed into it. It gave him the time though, to observe his surroundings, but what he saw nearly made him gape incredulously.

He knew they were bastards, but such an open move? He would have never thought they had the guts to do it. Usually, politicking and silent maneuvering was more their style, but maybe they became restless and finally wanted to show him their superiority?

His mind was racing and he thought about everything he knew of them, analyzing their strengths and weaknesses.

Nott was by far the most dangerous of the lot. He was calm and calculating, and showed an unhealthy interest in the dark arts. Sure, they all did, but none were as invested in them as Theodore. From what he had seen during the DaDa lessons, the guy was very good on the offense but had no defensive capabilities to speak of.

Another _Reducto_ hit the ground next to him and chunks of loose earth flew around. Harry adjusted his _Protego_ accordingly. It would probably hold for another minute or two, so he had to think quickly.

Malfoy was absolutely pants at DaDa and barely managed to make a _Stupefy_ work, but in return his wand work in transfiguration was pretty good. Not as good as his own, but formidable nonetheless. It had the potential to be a lethal weapon combined with the charm work of Zabini, who was the balanced one out of the group.

Why were they even attacking him? Wasn't that a bit overt for member of Salazar's house? He grimaced however, when he remembered that the only wards covering the grounds were the ones against apparition. Hagrid hut was too far away and he wouldn't reach it in time either.

His shield had barely any juice left and he stared at the last two of his assailants.

Crabbe and Goyle, two guys from the same chip of block. Barely any brain to speak of, but heavy muscle and a serious problem should they reach him. He doubted that they were able to hit him with any spells, but their violent nature in close combat made them vicious enemies as well.

Maybe, that was the fate's way of telling him that he had to relieve some stress. Yes, the thought was a pleasant one and if it was indeed their will, then he would be happy to oblige. This was a completely different matter than the one in the second task, after all.

These Slytherins attacked him deliberately without cause and did it in a place where help was far away...

A feral grin split his face as his shield gave up under the constant pressure of spell fire. He would make sure not to kill them, of course, but by Merlin it felt good to battle again. He didn't know why it was such a satisfying feeling, but the adrenaline that pumped through his body was welcome in any shape or form.

"_Petrificus Totalus!_"

Harry simply stepped out of the way and inwardly shook his head. A Petrificus, really? He had expected more from Malfoy.

The _Confringo_ that missed him was another matter altogether. Definitely one of Nott's spells. That could have seriously hurt him if it had hit. Nott was going down!

"_Debiles Fulmen!_" he shouted, but unfortunately Nott escaped the electrical strike that left his wand. He was about to use another curse, when the sound of someone heavy reminded him that Nott wasn't alone. His wand whipped around and with an overpowered _Venti Flamini_, Harry threw Crabbe and Goyle away from him.

Not a moment too soon, as he jumped away from another _Reducto_ and flicked his wand to levitate a boulder between him and several incoming curses. The fight was fast paced and he doubted that they would give him the time to use a nice and long incantation...

"_Serpensortia!_"

Harry couldn't help the mocking look. Malfoy knew he was a parsel tongue, so why did he summon snakes? It became clear however, after Zabini engorged the two snakes and they slithered forwards.

"_Surdis!_"

What the- Not bad, Harry thought and abandoned his plans to speak with the snakes. Zabini had put a deafening charm on the snakes, preventing any and all communication in parsel tongue.

"_Sagitta! Petrae Ictui!_"

His aim with the arrow was a bit shoddy and he barely managed to kill the snake to his left before it bit him, but the large stone he threw at the second one had hit it full force. He groaned in annoyance as he saw how Crabbe and Goyle advanced. Again, he blasted them away, but this time he also charmed the ground they crashed onto. The sticky glue they landed in would make it hard for them to attack again.

With the brutes out of the way, he started to duel in earnest with Malfoy, Zabini and Nott. Spells flew through the air, illuminating the dark night and shields snapped into place, preventing most of the injuries. It wasn't easy to parry the spells of all three, but somehow he managed and it was exhilarating!

Sure, he could have transfigured some stone warriors and animated them to do his bidding. That would have ended the whole affair rather fast however, and he wanted to enjoy the thrill of battle for a while longer.

He had just stepped out of the way from an errant _Reducto_, when a sudden screech reached his ears. A very familiar screech.

No! No, no, no!

Hedwig had seemingly felt that he was in battle and to protect her companion, she made her way over to them. Now, the snowy owl was pecking viciously at Zambini's head.

"No! Hedwig, away! Stay away!" he cried out and surprisingly his familiar obeyed.

Then, it all went to hell.

"_Ignem Aestifer__!_"

A stream of incredibly hot fire spilled out of Nott's wand and hit Hedwig. Harry blanked out. He recognized the spell and knew it to be a fire created from the dark arts. Not on the level of _Fiendfyre_, but absolutely lethal nonetheless.

For a moment, everything stilled and Harry couldn't belief what just happened. The fire stopped and what remained was a large pile of ash. Ash...

He looked to Nott, who had a cruel glint in his eyes, and his own expression turned into unadulterated and unchained hatred.

"_BASTARD!_" Harry snarled and his wand was in motion, quicker and with more precision than ever before. "_Reducto! Ardere Sagitto! Debiles Fulmen! Petrae Ictui! Percutere! Reducto!_"

Dozens of spells went after Nott, who did his best to avoid each of them, fear suddenly painted across his face.

He was relentless. He transfigured rodents and birds, left and right, to attack the miserable bastard and spell after spell left Harry's lips, crashing against the measly defenses of Nott. Malfoy and Zabini were still stunned from the happenings of the last minutes.

_Diffindos_ hit Nott and each of them left a slash wound somewhere on his body. An arrow drilled itself through his shoulder and only when the Slytherin lied before him, broken and bloodied, did Harry stop his assault.

He levitated Crabbe and Goyle, and dumped them on the downed Slytherin. His eyes looked haunted, when he turned to Malfoy and his voice was brittle.

"Take them and leave."

Zabini was quick to comply, but Malfoy was still rooted to the spot, mere feet away from Hedwig's ashes.

"_LEAVE!_" Harry roared and finally, Malfoy listened and helped Zabini to levitate the three other Slytherins away. Nott needed medical care, but he didn't give a shit.

Hedwig.

He sank to his knees. _Hedwig_. Tears streamed over his cheeks and fell into her ashes.

A phoenix song reached his ears, but it didn't make him happier. Hedwig. He saw the fiery combustion to his right and Fawkes appeared in a ball of flames. Harry's sorrow turned into blinding anger.

"Where was he?!" he screamed at Fawkes. "Where was the man if he knew what was happening? Answer me, Fawkes!"

The phoenix stared back at him, unblinking, and suddenly thoughts not his own entered his mind. "He doesn't know? But you..."

"You felt my sadness?"

Fawkes bobbed his head, but instead of continuing to sing, he flew over to the ashes and mixed his own tears in them.

What... and then he remembered. It was a passage he had read after his second year in the attempt to understand more about Fawkes.

_Born from fire of darkness, bathed in tears of light – the phoenix rises and takes flight_.

Back then, he thought it to be metaphorical nonsense, but what if... He turned to Fawkes, disbelief written all over his face and then he saw it.

A small, bald head that poked out of the ashes.

_Hedwig_.

* * *

**AN: **That's it for the moment. Harry had his frustrating, but also some sweet moments throughout the chapter. It culminated in a battle after which he was witness to one of the very rare wonders of the magical world.

The spells and trinkets some of you might not remember:

_Dolus Pulvisculus_ - A blue crystalline powder used to conceal someone. Stronger than any glamour as it is an advanced alchemic procedure (First mentioned in chapter three)

_Masi-ink and Vellum_ - Very expensive ink and parchment that he bought on Elize's command (First mentioned in chapter four)

_Debiles Fulmen_ - A weak, electrical strike (First mentioned in chapter two)

_Venti Flamini_ - A spell that's usually used to keep campfires going, but if overpowered becomes a strong gust of wind (First mentioned in chapter six)

_Surdis_ - A spell that temporarily deafens the target.

_Sagitta_ - Shoots arrows out of the wand (First mentioned in chapter two)

_Petrae Ictui_ - Loosens a rock from the earth and throws it at the target (First mentioned in chapter six)

_Ignem Aestifer_ - Strong fire of the dark arts. Extremely lethal.

_Percutere_ - Feels like an invisible hit with a fist (First mentioned in chapter five)


	9. Chapter 9

Hurray, the FF broke the two hundred review mark! I was a happy camper, when I saw that. Anyway, have fun while reading and I appreciate all your comments as always. (=

I also got a beta, finally, who's currently working her way through the first chapter. It'll take some time until she's on the same chapter as me, but I'm way too impatient to wait on a corrected version each time I want to publish a new one.

In that regard, many thanks to Spikeisdabest, the wonderful woman who currently tries to improve my story!

* * *

**Magicks of the Arcane**

Chapter IX

* * *

**Hogwarts – 5. May 1995**

Merely two hours had gone by since his confrontation with Nott and the other Slytherins. Two hours, in which Harry did nothing else but think about his feathered companion. It was a miracle, Harry thought and he couldn't remember any other time he felt as relieved as he did when she was reborn. She died and was reborn...

She was alive!

The nightly wind was freezing as he sat on the stairs leading to the Owlery, but he didn't care. The whole thing astounded Harry and he wasn't sure if he grasped everything that had happened, but there was nothing, nothing that was able to describe accurately what he felt at the moment. Relief and happiness because Hed wasn't dead, but also anger. Incredible anger directed at Nott, who dared to use the deadly fire against his familiar.

_Ignem Aestifer_, a spell often described as conjuring the flames of hell itself. Where had Nott, a fourth year, learned to cast it? He was aware that Nott's father had been a Death Eater, but wasn't it even for them unfathomable to teach such magicks to their children? Especially if those had yet to reach their majority?

It seemed not...

He didn't know if it was indeed Nott's father that taught him, or someone else, but one thing was clear to him. That person, whoever it was, rose directly into the higher echelons of Harry's shitlist.

"Harry!"

A voice interrupted his musings. Harry looked up and saw the form of his headmaster moving at a brisk pace towards him. He could guess what the man wanted to talk about, but it didn't matter what Dumbledore had to say. He would neither apologize, nor forgive.

"Good, I finally found you."

Dumbledore pulled his wand out of the yellow robe he wore and swished it through the air. Harry guessed that he used some heating charms as the robe looked rather thin. "An hour ago, I was alerted by Poppy that a student arrived in the hospital wing."

"Sir?"

"That's nothing unusual in Hogwarts. Unusual, however, were the lethal wounds said student had."

Dumbledore didn't look accusing, but the man wouldn't have sought him out if he didn't know about some of what happened. Harry regarded the headmaster with an unreadable look. He felt ashamed about his deeds in the lake, but he had no compassion for Nott. None at all.

"You think it was me."

It wasn't a question, merely the statement of a fact.

"I know it was you, but I'm not here to accuse you, Harry. I scanned the surface of Mr. Nott's mind and while I got no details, your face stood out quite clearly. I didn't probe any deeper as I loath to use this art on my students, but came to you instead."

Legilimency was something Harry seriously considered to take up as soon as he reached the age of fifteen. It did surprise him, though, that the headmaster admitted to it in front of him. "What do you want to know?"

"I want to know many things, but first and foremost I need to know what happened two hours ago. No embellishments, no lies, just the truth."

Harry looked at the headmaster for a long time, weighting if he wanted to tell the man everything. Despite the Dursleys, the man hadn't led him astray yet.

"I was taking a walk on the grounds. I know it was way after curfew, but with all the charms that I learned, I didn't care about it." he said and if Dumbledore minded his rulebreaking, he didn't show it. The man looked attentive and prompted him to continue with a wave of his hand.

"They attacked me and suddenly we started to duel."

"They?" Dumbledore asked, but Harry got the feeling that the headmaster had already guessed who else attacked him.

"Nott, Malfoy, Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle. I hadn't much problems with them in the beginning..."

"... but it escalated. Tell me, Harry. Do you think it was a simple brawl that got out of hand, or is there something else?"

Harry bit on his lip and averted his eyes from the headmaster. "I- I felt exhilarated. It was great at first... the thirst for more was... _overwhelming_! I was careful not to injure them. I _wanted_ the battle to continue."

The feeling of excitement wasn't completely new to Harry as he had felt it many times before, but never as strong as that. Even when he was running from the basilisk, only armed with a sword, he had felt it. Back then it was buried deep beneath the fear, but he hadn't feared the Slytherins... and the results were clear.

Dumbledore's brows rose and he contemplated what Harry just told him. He knew some individuals that described their battles in nearly the same way. Drums of war, pounding in the ears as the adrenalin pumped through the body. People who, to a lesser extent, felt the same often chose carriers as Aurors or Hitwizards.

However, currently he thought about another group. A group which members were at their strongest when they battled.

_Warmages_.

A guild that was only ordered to the field when all else failed. As they were the executive power of the IWC he had considered to ask them for help, mere days before the fateful night in Godric's hollow. Things with the young Potter just got more complicated.

"What enraged you so, that you nearly crippled Mr. Nott, Harry?" he asked and was surprised as he saw the fire that suddenly lit in Harry's eyes.

"Nott killed _her_. He deserved it! It was pure luck that she was reborn!"

Harry's answer went directly over Dumbledore's head. Killed her? Reborn? The headmaster prided himself on his quick understanding, but what the boy just said... For a moment, Dumbledore wondered if Harry had dabbled in necromancy, but he quickly abandoned that thought. If there was one thing he was sure about, it was that the boy despised the dark arts. But what else could be rebo... suddenly a dark suspicion entered his mind.

"Who died and was reborn, Harry?" he asked and had trouble to remain composed. On some level he feared the answer.

"Hedwig. She's a phoenix now."

Harry was surprised by the sound that escaped the headmaster. It was a growl and the man looked suddenly very menacing. "I need proof, Harry. Please, call Hedwig."

"But she was just-"

"Their height doesn't matter. A phoenix can flash in any state, just the amount is limited. Call her."

He had never seen the man so... _pushy_. Harry wondered why that was, but he shrugged his shoulders and complied. "Hed?"

A small burst of white flames later and an exhausting looking mini phoenix perched on his shoulder.

"It's true..."

Harry looked towards the headmaster, but what he saw frightened him beyond belief. The man had brought himself to full height, his nostrils flared and the eyes that usually shone with kindness had narrowed to slits. The blue orbs that normally twinkled, had gained a dark hue and for a moment Harry feared that Dumbledore would attack him.

"_Fire!_" the headmaster grounded out and when Harry didn't reply instantly, he reinforced his question. "Which _fire_ did Mr. Nott use?"

"_Ignem Aestifer._"

The growl that escaped Dumbledore was such an unusual sound that Harry briefly wondered if the headmaster was possessed.

"Meet me in the infirmary, Harry. Fakwes!" he bellowed out and a second later the headmaster was gone in a flash of fire.

* * *

Harry ran as fast as his legs could carry him and when he finally reached the medical wing, he quickly opened the door and walked in. The scene he found surprised him, however.

"Wake him up. Now."

"We can't wake him in his condition. Be reasonable, Albus!"

Madam Pomfrey was arguing with the headmaster, but seemed to be on the loosing side as the voice of Dumbledore was authoritative in manner beyond anything Harry had ever experienced.

"I don't care. Soon, he will be transferred to ."

"But-"

"Wake him up. I won't repeat myself, Poppy."

The medi-witch obviously fought with herself, but in the end she was as frightened by Dumbledore's change in behavior as Harry was. She muttered under her breath and went to one of the many shelves that lined the northern wall of the infirmary.

It took but seconds for Nott to wake up after she had poured some potion down his throat. He was in pain, but with the exception of Madam Pomfrey, nobody seemed to care. His eyes darted around, but when he noticed where he was, his head sank back into the pillow.

"Water-" he groaned out.

"Theodore Nott. Look at me."

Nott's half-shut eyes opened completely, when he heard the harsh voice of the headmaster. His head rose some inches and every thought of the punishment Potter would get, vanished as soon as he saw Dumbledore's face. Harry had not sympathy for Nott, but he sure could understand the fright that gripped the Slytherin. Those pools of blue that blazed with anger were terrifying. Did the headmaster even need to use magic against his enemies? Wasn't that look alone enough to make them submit?

"Theodore Nott. For using dark magic of the most vile kind and the killing of another wizard's familiar, you are hereby expelled from Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry."

With a quick motion, the headmaster took Nott's wand from the nightstand. "The _Priori Incantatem _of your wand has been recorded." He snapped the wand in two pieces and Harry could practically see the agony on the Slytherin's face. "As is custom, the remains of your wand will be sent to your family."

Suddenly, the fireplace next to Harry flared green and he quickly jumped away as three people in official, red robes stepped through the fire.

"Albus, you better have a good reason to call me and my Aurors at-" The stern witch took a look at her watch. "- five in the morning."

Harry recognized her instantly from the yule ball. Amelia Bones.

So, Dumbledore had called the DMLE in the time it took him to reach the infirmary...

"I have, Amelia. Mr. Nott has just been expelled from Hogwarts for the use of dark arts."

Her stare hardened and she looked towards the boy in the bed. "This is Mr. Nott, I presume? Which kind of dark magic?"

"He killed Mr. Potter's familiar with _Ignem Aestifer._"

Amelia's eyes narrowed, but she nodded. "Have you followed procedure?" she asked and Dumbledore handed her a small orb with a white substance swirling inside of it.

"I have. The last twenty spells of his wand are recorded."

"Does he need further medical attention?"

The director of the DMLE turned to the scared medi-witch that had observed everything with a look akin to disbelief. It took some seconds until Madam Pomfrey acknowledged the question. "Yes, he does." she answered.

Again, Madam Bones nodded. "Cobley, Manston, take him to the security ward of St. Mungos. One Auror guard at all time, eight hour shifts. Inform Sleaford that he will be the assigned medi-wizard for Mr. Nott."

The Aurors immediately complied and Harry was incredibly intimidated by the woman. During the ball she had been amiable and relatively easy to talk to, but now she was all business and nothing on her face even hinted to any kind of familiarity.

When the two Aurors had finally left, Amelia sighed and turned to Dumbledore. "Excuse me, Albus, but I have to take my leave. You just doubled the amount of paperwork on my table... Anyway, I'll keep you informed."

Without any further words she stepped through the roaring fire and vanished. Madam Pomfrey had retreated into her office in the meantime. No doubt, because she was as overwhelmed by everything as Harry was.

"Sir..."

"Do you think I overreacted?" the headmaster suddenly asked.

"No, but-"

"Fawkes wasn't always a phoenix, Harry. Until the moment when Gellert threw Fiendfyre at him, he had been an owl just like your Hedwig..."

"So..."

"Yes."

Silence reigned supreme.

It was an unusual pair that resided in the infirmary that night. Two men who, despite the age difference of over a hundred years, led a similar life.

* * *

**Diagon Alley - 12. May 1995**

Elize Broadmoor sat in her living room and enjoyed a cup of tea, waiting for the last Potter to finally arrive. They had made an appointment for today, after all. It didn't matter if Harry forgot about it, because she was sure that Albus knew her stance on punctuality quite well and would do everything in his power to spare Harry the disciplinary consequences. Elize was just about to take another sip, when a sudden combustion directly in front of the small glass table startled her.

It took but a second for the surprise to wear off. That infuriating, miserable old ba-

"Good morning, Elize. I hope I'm not too late."

The voice was a different one than she had expected and when the white specks that still marred her vision receded, she was quick to look around the room, scanning it for the source of disturbance. In a dignified manner, of course.

Since when was the last heir to House Potter in possession of a phoenix?

She put the cup, still tightly gripped in her hands, down on the table and rose from the scarlet colored couch, smoothing the barely recognizable wrinkles on her black dress. The unexpected form of his entrance had surprised her, but there was no need to look ruffled, she thought and went over to Harry, who dutifully took a small bow and brushed his lips across her knuckles.

"Not too late, no. I do wonder, however, why you thought it to be a good idea to just appear in my living room. It's neither polite, nor does it satisfy the common courtesy of knocking."

"Well..."

What was he supposed to tell her? That the horrified expression his headmaster had worn after he realized that Harry would be late prompted him to abandon his courtesy?

"Do speak your mind, Harry."

Harry's thoughts were running wild, but in the end he chose to formulate an answer that left out his reasoning. "I apologize, Elize. It wasn't my intention to disturb you."

"Good, you're learning. Sometimes apologies are a necessity, but be cautious when and to whom you offer them. Weakness is something that should never be associated with a future lord." she said and seated herself on the couch, beckoning Harry to do the same after she signaled an elf to deliver a bottle of wine from the cellar.

"If you have to apologize, however, keep it as simple as you did just now. To mention the cause for your apology might be needed among friends, but it has no place in the political arena. Every bit of information you reveal provides your opponents more opportunity to strike you down."

Harry nodded as he found that explanation to be reasonable, but just as he started to think he had successfully escaped the hot waters, Elize spoke again. "You have to brush up on your lying, though. The anxiety you showed was enough for me to imagine the terrified expression Albus must have worn. Do try not to copy his bad manners."

A sly smile tugged at her lips as she waited for the demure house elf, that had just returned with a nearly silent pop, to finish pouring the wine. Not many purebloods knew it, but house elves had to be trained as well. It increased their proficiency in many household skills and after years they sometimes even learned to appear without any noise. It was knowledge long lost, only written down in tomes about old times when elves were still entering bonds of servitude out of their own, free will.

Harry looked hesitantly at the red liquid that was contained by the obviously expansive glass ware of Elize. He had made some experiences with alcohol, mainly during the drinking binge with Dumbledore and the bottle of fire whiskey he had been gifted by the man, but wine would be a completely new sensation. As he was about to take his glass, he wondered how it tasted.

"I already taught you this, but make sure to hold only the handle of the glass. Do you remember why?" she asked and for a moment Harry had to think hard about the answer. With everything that had happened since then, the yuletide ball seemed like a distant memory and so did the lessons he got for it.

"It would heat the content of the glass if I was to grip it completely."

"Correct. This rule isn't as much for appearances sake as it is for your own comfort. I can assure you that warm wine tastes quite horribly."

Harry adjusted his grip accordingly and took a sip from his glass, tasting the red liquid for the first time. It was... _fruity _for a lack of better terms_. _Not unpleasant, he thought, but Harry doubted that it would go well with smoking his pipe; the harsh taste of fire whiskey fitted better for that.

He swirled the wine in his glass, well aware that Elize was watching him. "Does it always taste like this?" he asked.

She quirked her lips in dry amusement, inwardly giggling over the naivety of her student. The idea that wine always tasted the same was quite ridiculous, but it was what she expected from someone without any kind of formal upbringing. Ladies, lords, scions – they all would have laughed, had he asked such a question in their company. Of course, it only added to their hypocrisy, because despite their propaganda, wine was a good they loved to acquire from muggles.

"No, it varies greatly in its taste and so does its price. Selby?"

Harry felt confused by the strange word, but it quickly cleared as an old looking house elf popped up next to them. He had never seen one with a beard and found it to be hilarious. That simply must be the Dumbledore of house elves, he thought.

"What can Selby do for you, mistress?" the elf asked regally. It seemed like the speech of them refined itself with age.

"Tell the young heir what wine he just drank and the price of it."

"As you wish, mistress." he turned to Harry. "It was a Rioja 'Vina El Pison' and currently costs about one hundred Galleons, young sir."

The price was mind boggling and his eyes widened. One hundred Galleons? If he converted it by current exchange rates, that were five hundred pounds! Not even aunt Petunia, who always boasted about her acquired tastes, had ever drunk something that expensive, he was sure.

Selby waited for a few more seconds, but when it became clear that he wasn't needed anymore he vanished, leaving the heir of House Potter alone with his mistress.

"One hundred?" he asked, still dazed by the amount of money. He had more than that in his vault, of course, but for a bottle of beverage?

"I told you that the price varies greatly. It's the reason why you should always be careful, when you invite people to a party or a meeting. Different social circles require different sorts of wine and it would be a great offense if you chose wrongly – for the upper echelons at least."

"But-"

"I agree that it's quite absurd, but those are rules and conventions dating back to the fifteenth century and they will probably remain unbroken in the near future."

Harry had to agree that it made sense as bizarre as it was, when a sudden thought occurred to him.

"Is that the reason why there are so few new houses and lords in the Wizengamot?" he asked and noticed the reminiscent look that entered her eyes.

"Oh? You did some reading beforehand. That's more than I could ever say of Albus. Even in old age, when he should know better, the man is incorrigible."

Harry was deeply amused by that statement and wondered if he should rub it into the headmaster's nose, the next time he saw him. It would make for a terribly fun conversation, he was sure.

"You are right to some extent. Many things are tied into the ascension to lordship and contrary to the old times one doesn't even need old blood anymore. Those houses are neither ancient nor noble, of course, but still have a seat in the Wizengamot. It can be done with very good connections and such can only be formed through a lot of effort and money."

Elize took another sip from her glass and looked thoughtful. "Most people with illusions of grandeur lack the monetary means to do so and thus it makes the founding of a new house a rare occurrence. I can only think of Joseph Greengrass who ascended in recent years."

Greengrass? Now that was a surprise, Harry thought. He didn't know that Daphne's father was only recently given peerage, but he distantly remembered that the man owned a large shipping company that transported fire whiskey and pumpkin juice.

"Anyway, you're here for a different reason." she said and her sudden stare made him highly uncomfortable. "What in Merlin's name possessed you to run away from the press? It was incredibly childish and Albus had to call in many favors to keep it out of the Daily Prophet."

"Um, I-"

"Speak clearly when you talk to me, Harry. What's done is done, but man up and tell me the reasons."

The tension in the room rose and Harry briefly wondered how much of Dumbledore's clout his actions must have cost if Elize was that angry. He decided that a straight answer was the best course of action.

"I was surprised and I felt guilty about the Merfolk. It was just too much at that moment and all these people... way too much."

Her expression softened after his admission, but she still shook her head, disappointed by the complete lack of maturity he had shown.

"Harry, do you really consider yourself the only one with problems? Other people have equally troubling concerns and yet, they still face the press. You have to separate between business and your private thoughts and feelings."

That was easier said than done, he thought, but remained silent and listened attentively to her words.

"Reporters are like bloodhounds in a way. If you fear them, they smell it and come after you."

"But how am I supposed to react when they ask questions about my feelings? There was no clear line to draw!"

Harry slowly but surely felt the acute presence of alcohol in his bloodstream and his exclamation was heated. Elize leaned back into the couch and regarded the young man that sat next to her with a stern look while Selby refilled their glasses for the fourth time already.

She was satisfied, when Harry backed down and seemed to be apologetic; even more satisfied, when he didn't voice his apology.

"There are different ways to deal with them in such a situation. You could have simply said 'no comment' and diverted their attention. Important is that you talk to them. If you use the excuse of 'no comment' too often and they don't get any information, they will simply invent something. Probably nothing good."

Elize took another sip and Harry being the naive boy that he was, followed suit. It wasn't bad if one had to adept to foreign situations, but it could also lead to trouble...

"You could have also talked in circles, stringing them along. It holds the risk, however, that they will recognize what you're doing so be careful about it. The people aren't stupid and reporters even less. Lastly, there is Albus' way of doing it and I ask of you not to imitate it."

Harry perked up. Dumbledore's way? Well, he had a pretty good idea what it was and Elize's further words only confirmed his suspicion.

"He simply rambles about inane things, confusing the press to no end. It gave him the reputation of being a crazy, ancient relic, of course, but as he is quite old he can pull it off without being transferred to . It made him nearly invulnerable to the press and reporters generally tend to stay away from him."

Now, why didn't she want him to emulate that behavior? The reasoning was quite sound, he thought and already made plans to create his own, crazy reputation, despite her warning words.

"I can see the ideas forming in your mind, Harry." she said and Harry looked up with mocking guilt in his eyes.

"You're way too young to even consider it. Within weeks you would be declared unfit to live in society and your residence becomes the bed next to Gildroy Lockhart. I heard something quite unfortunate happened to him."

"So I only have the first two options..."

"Well, if you find another way feel free to use it, but until further notice be cautious in your dealings with the press."

Elize relaxed even further into the couch and pulled her legs on it to make herself more comfortable. She had just emptied her fourth glass and gained a rosy blush on her cheeks; a lone strand of her brown hair fell in her face.

"Now, that the business is over... tell me, Harry, how are you? I heard quite some tales about what you're up to at Hogwarts."

Harry wanted to answer her, but the words didn't come and his mouth became dry. The change of position made her dress slide up a bit and revealed more of her cream colored legs. _Get a grip_, Harry chided himself. It wasn't the first time he was with a beautiful woman and it hopefully wouldn't be the last.

"I'm fine, but it was... _stressful_." he answered, well aware that his voice had deepened an octave. There could be nothing to it, of course, and he knew that, but god the woman looked beautiful. His mind had taken on a live of its own and bombarded him with ideas, suggestions, _images_ what could happen soon.

Did Elize even notice what kind of reaction she aroused as she leaned over and patted his shoulder sympathetically, giving him a good view of her cleavage?

Yes, she knew.

Harry looked up and was met with her smoldering gaze; the tension in the room suddenly rose.

"Maybe I could _alleviate_ your stress..."

She came closer and closer, pushing relentlessly into his personal space. The intoxicating smell of her perfume filled his nostrils and he felt how her hand wandered downwards, away from his shoulder, and came to rest on his thigh.

Her breath tickled his face and their lips were only inches apart. Harry could safely say that he had never felt as aroused in his life as he did now. She was just about to close the remaining space between them, her lips parted and-

"This is exactly the kind of situation a woman hired by your opposition could acquire vital information in." she whispered and it felt like a slap to the face, when she leaned over and kissed his cheek before returning to her former position.

"Well, that concludes our lesson for today, Harry. I will see you in a few day's time."

Harry was still dazed, when she rose from the couch and walked out of the room, leaving him behind. Minutes went by until the situation finally settled in and he grasped what just had happened.

_I really have no luck with women_..., he thought and rubbed his nose in annoyance. "Hed, take me back to Hogwarts, please."

Hedwig appeared next to him and with a flash of white fire he was gone.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 27. May 1995**

It was already late into the evening, when Harry arrived on the Quidditch pitch after receiving a notification from Ludo Bagman, requesting his presence. He walked at a sedated pace and his eyes wandered around the premise, taking stock of the people that were waiting on him.

The sight that greeted him, however, didn't only surprise him, but also served to anger him quite a bit. It weren't the people, of course, as only Bagman himself and his fellow champions awaited him, but the monstrosity that had been grown, seemingly over night, on the pitch.

What had they done?

Rows of hedges that were moving slightly with every breeze filled the place in increasingly erratic patterns. They looked dark, foreboding and alive, whenever they leaned to one side or the other, defying the laws of gravity.

Krum and Cedric looked at them with the same dismay he did, but Fleur was surrounded by her usual air of nonchalance. That changed quickly though, as she spied him and a dazzling smile appeared on her face.

"'arry!"

Her cry alerted Bagman, who had led a heated discussion about Quidditch till then, and the portly man turned around to him, welcoming him with a joyful expression.

"Harry, m'lad! Good of you to come."

Instantly, his hands were draped over Harry's shoulders and he steered the last Potter towards the rest of the group.

"I hadn't much of a choice, really."

"Well, anyway..."

It was an awkward moment and Harry only rolled his eyes at Bagman, who offered to be called Ludo by him. After everything he had heard and read about the man, he couldn't help but wonder if his excitable nature was just a facade. Debts that were racking up quite nicely and which he was unable to repay, incredible loss of his political clout, held in contempt by several influential Veela covens all over the wold – the list went on and Harry was surprised that the man hadn't attempted suicide just yet. No wonder that Fleur always looked with disdain, when Bagman spoke to her.

"Good, _Ludo_. Now, why don't we start?" he asked.

The _and get it over with_ remained unspoken, but he was sure that the other champions picked up on it. It didn't lessen Krum's hostile glare, or Cedric's unsure fidgeting, though.

"Of course, this is the third task!" he said.

With his arms opened wide and a voice filled with pride, he gestured towards the hedges. Harry just didn't understand how anyone, a former professional Quidditch player no less, could feel joyed by the mangled and ruined pitch. It was a capital offense in his book and he wasn't alone in that sentiment. Krum's eyes narrowed even further and Harry could practically feel the anger that burned behind them.

"Can you guess what it is?"

Harry shared the incredulous look Fleur's and both eyed Bagman as if he spoke in a different language neither of them understood.

"Maze." grunted Krum after several seconds of silence.

Under other circumstances he would have prolonged the talk with Bagman just to annoy the Bulgarian, but he himself only wanted it to end. There was only so much stupidity he was able to bear in one evening.

"Right you are, young Viktor. On the twenty-fourth June, all of you have to get through the maze and the one that touches the cup in the middle of it will win the Triwizard tournament!" he exclaimed. "You will enter it according to your amount of points with a difference of five minutes between each other."

Harry, who had already guessed something like that, strained his eyes to see the boarders of the maze. The maze seemingly stretched beyond the pitch and the wooden towers, they usually sat in to watch Quidditch, had vanished, leaving no possibility for them to orient themselves in it.

"Any chance you might tell us what we have to await in it?"

"That's a good question, 'arry."

They turned to Bagman, who paled slightly as he saw their expectant faces. "Well, I can't reveal any details, of course, but Hagrid has some available _creatures_..."

Cedric and Harry became very still and ceased all movements, looking at the man with fear written plainly over their faces. The Bulgarian champion scoffed, but Fleur knew that something was amiss if the information made the last Potter that queasy. Especially, when said champion already took on a dragon with no wounds to speak of.

"Um, that's it. You can go to your dorms now..."

The man quickly walked away as did Cedric and Krum, but Harry didn't care. A feeling of dread had overcome him as soon as the word left Bagman's mouth, rooting him to the spot. It was a battle for supremacy that took place in his mind, a battle between denial and horror.

What manner of creatures had Hagrid acquired? What kind of monstrosity were they to face?

A hand came to rest on his shoulders and startled him out of his thoughts.

"'arry?"

"Fleur..." he looked at her and saw the curiosity on her face. Cedric already knew about the incredible danger and if the Bulgarian prick wanted to run with open arms towards his downfall, that was certainly his right. Fleur, however... she had no idea what terrors Hagrid could unleash with his innocent perspective of cute and harmless.

"Are you okay?"

"No. No, I'm not. Fleur, promise me to be very careful in the maze." he said and the Veela was surprised by his sudden, forceful nature.

"What is the matter with you, 'arry?"

"You have no idea who Hagrid is, right?" he asked

"The big man that cares for our Abraxans, _non_?"

Earlier he would have found her naive reaction funny, but now, now it was life threatening. "Fleur, just promise me. Hagrid is very... _peculiar_. The man found a dragon to be a good pet and named a Cerberus_ Fluffy_."

If she hadn't seen Harry's grave expression, she would have laughed about this tidbit of information, but now his manner made even her fear for her life.

"I promise, 'arry. I'll see you soon." she said and gave him a peck on the cheek before leaving towards the Beauxbatons carriages.

For a moment Harry wondered why it was always the bloody cheek. Couldn't they just-

The cruel image of a Blast-Ended skrewt invaded his mind and his movements ceased again.

_What had they done?_

* * *

**Hogwarts - 31. May 1995**

"So, what leads you to me, Harry? At four am no less."

If the situation wasn't that serious, Harry would have heartily laughed about the outfit the older man currently wore. He had no doubt whatsoever that the headmaster considered his sleeping robe to be incredible fashionable, but it's neon-green color clashed horribly with the red slippers that kept his feet warm.

"I had another strange dream about Voldemort."

Dumbledore's expression, which had been somewhat sleepy and slightly curious until then, changed instantly and his head snapped up. "Another? Like the one during the summer holidays?"

"Yes, _Wormtail_ was in it again, and the snake!"

Harry's face darkened as he used the name of the traitorous rat. Sooner or later, the man would pay for the atrocities he committed. It was a vow he took when he had to watch helplessly as the rat escaped during his stint back in time. Sooner or later...

"It wasn't long. Voldemort mentioned something about a ritual, but gave no details." he said.

"This is very concerning, Harry. If it is as I suspect, then you share a mental connection with Tom, thus giving you these visions."

"So, they're real?"

The thought of sharing anything, let alone a mental connection, with Voldemort made him highly uncomfortable. He could see the advantages, of course, but still... it was Voldemort.

"I fear they are and as soon as you birthday has passed, I'm going to teach you Occlumency."

"What about the ritual?"

Dumbledore frowned and looked concerned. "There are many rituals a wizard can use. Some light, some dark. Without further information, however, it's impossible to pinpoint the correct one."

"So, we have nothing..." he said.

"I wouldn't say it like that, Harry. At least, we know that he is up to something. What exactly is still shrouded in mystery, but it tells us to remain vigilant."

"Constant Vigilance, huh?"

"Indeed. That you suddenly entered the tournament wasn't a coincidence. Something will happen soon, most likely during the third task as I can't protect you then. Whatever you do, be very careful in the maze."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and Harry's gazes wandered aimlessly through his office. The maze was probably the next deathtrap he had to face... He snorted in morbid amusement. Maybe he could surprise Riddle with some of Hagrid's _friends_ he would no doubt encounter beforehand.

The thought of pushing Voldemort into a group of Blast-ended skrewts was a very enticing one.

"Originally, I wanted to tell you this tomorrow, but as you're already here there's no sense in wasting time."

Harry looked up and stared into the grave face of his headmaster. What dastardly news had the older man to deliver now? Judging by his expression, it couldn't be anything good.

"Sir?"

"Until yesterday, Theodore Nott was held in captivity by the Aurors, but somehow..."

Nott. The name tasted like rotten fish on his tongue. "He escaped?"

"Not exactly escaped. Despite his rather shady past, Nott Sr. is an influential man. It took some time, many favors and probably a lot of bribes, but Theodore is a free man as of yesterday."

"What?"

The chair scraped on the wooden floor and fell over as Harry jumped up, rage etched onto his face. He wanted that bastard to rot! If it was in the cell his godfather had resided in, all the better. Those daydreams of revenge, however, were far away as the unexpected news hit him.

"He's free? Just like that?" he growled out.

"It wouldn't have happened, had there be a trial. As it stands, Nott Sr., Malfoy Sr. and a lot of others that belong to the same social circle managed to convince Fudge that it was nothing more than a simple brawl."

"So he's coming back?"

Harry righted the chair and slumped into it, frustration evident on his face. Those sodding Death Eaters!

"No. Theodore Nott may be free, but his expulsion from Hogwarts stands and I told Cornelius as much. As he's still a minor and not enrolled in any school, he won't be able to get a new wand. Theoretically at least. We both know that there are numerous ways around such laws..."

Troll spit! Now, Nott wasn't even under supervision anymore. Harry would have to watch his back carefully out of school, or he might find another dark spell aimed at it.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 6. June 1995**

A week went by and Harry had stepped up his training enormously. Now, that he knew about the possibility of the maze being a trap, he spared no efforts to prepare himself for the inevitable encounter with his fate. Whatever dastardly plot Voldemort might have hatched, he would be no part of it!

New spells were learned in record time and old ones were practiced until he could do them with the merest flick of his wand. Rage, anger and steely determination were strengthened by his need for swift progress.

A wordless _Incendio_ crashed against the wall, its potency increased by the wind charm he fired directly afterward. The well of power that slumbered within him, clearly portrayed in his mind to gauge the exact amount of power he had to use for each spell.

After hours of maddening training, he decided to get a cup of tea in the kitchens and went out of his room. What he found on his way, however, surprised him.

Harry slowly crept along the wall towards the direction the voices were coming from. He had to be very careful as the passages he took lead straight through the dungeons and a confrontation with Snape wasn't high on his to-do list for the night.

"I forbid you!"

And there was his famous luck again. It just had to be Snape.

"But, sir!"

Harry perked up. He knew that voice from somewhere, but to whom did it belong? There was only one way to find out and he pulled the cloak out of a pouch on his belt. There was no way that a simple notice-me-not charm would hold against the man. After he applied the necessary charms, he stretched his neck and carefully looked around the corner.

Snape was shrouded in shadows and a girl, a sixth year Slytherin, stood in front of him, pleading for something. For what, he didn't know. At least, not yet.

"No, absolutely not. There will be no relationship between my snakes and foolish Gryffindors!"

The man nearly spat the word Gryffindor and Harry decided then and there that he would never let any information about his stint with Daphne slip.

"We're not in a relationship, sir!"

"You can't fool me! I know that you're involved with this imbecile Warths and I say it again: You will have no contact with scrum like that, or I will inform your parents. They won't be pleased that their only child loiters around with _Gryffindors_."

The girl was nearly sobbing now, but Harry's mind was running thousand miles a minute. Warths? Tim Warths? He remembered something... and then it came to him. The night he had set the fountain statue on Snape! Then she was Lydia, the girl Tim had kissed that night.

"Who told you, sir?" The girl sounded defeated. It was an attitude he could sympathize with, when faced by someone like Snape.

"That's none of your concern."

That meant as much as no one. Snape wouldn't let such a chance to gloat go to waste otherwise. But how? How could the man have learned about it? Had he se-

Legilimency! Oh, that sodding bastard. Legilimencing students, is he? Harry's thoughts were dark as he looked on how Snape berated the girl until she was nothing more than a crying mess. He had to do something, but what?

He could, of course, just reveal himself and gloriously defend the girlfriend of his fellow Gryffindor, but then again... that was a stupid idea. He could warn Tim, but what would it help? The guy wouldn't be able to do anything.

There was only one possible solution. Harry groaned, when he thought about the long way to the headmaster's office. So much for his relaxed night in the kitchens.

* * *

"You wanted to talk about something?"

If Dumbledore minded a visit so soon after his last one, he didn't show it. The man simply laid his quill aside and put his whole attention on Harry, curious as to what had moved the boy to seek his help again.

"Snape!"

The headmaster got a sudden mischievous glint in his eyes. "Snape who?"

"Professor Snape..." he corrected himself, fully aware of what the man in front of him played at.

"That's better. Now, what is your grievance with our esteemed potion professor tonight?" he asked.

"I think he legilimenced a student!"

"That's a heavy accusation. Are you sure about it? Not that I can talk as I did the same to Mr. Nott." he said and scratched his beard. Dumbledore knew he had to tread carefully. Nott was still a sore topic for the boy.

"You did it out of necessity. He only wants to destroy a relationship for the fun of it. How else could he have known?"

"That's circumstantial evidence at best, Harry. Why don't you tell me what happened and we go from there?"

Harry realized how weird his sentence must have sounded to someone who didn't know what he was talking about. So he explained it and left nothing out. His stealthy walk to the Owlery that night, his attempt to distract Snape which drew a hearty chuckle and what he saw of Tim and Lydia.

"That certainly explains why Severus was so edgy the last few months."

"Yes, and now he wants the girl to stay away from Tim. Would her parents really object that hardly to a union with a Gryffindor?" he asked.

"Well, her parents are decidedly dark, but they never overtly supported Voldemort. Though, I doubt that they would disinherit their daughter for dating young Tim. It would be better, nonetheless, if they were only informed about it once Mr. Warths is out of Hogwarts and has a steady job."

"So, you'll keep Snape away from them?"

…

"Excuse me, professor Snape, of course." he amended. How the hell could the old man be so fussy about Snape's title?

"Yes, I'll have a talk with him. You do know the consequences though, do you, Harry?"

Consequences? What consequences? What pile of dragon dung did he just maneuver himself into? "Consequences?"

"Of course. If I talk with Severus, then he would learn about your involvement. I would be accused of favoritism if I didn't give you at least a detention for being out after curfew."

Wonderful. Detention, or saving the love life of his fellow Gryffindor? Damn his bloody noble attitude. "I take the detention."

Harry sighed. Well, at least it would anger Snape somewhat...

"Don't worry, Harry. I'll make it interesting for you. Two weeks to serve with Madam Pomfrey in the infirmary."

Infirmary? Oh, hell no! He would have to empty bedpans for two sodding weeks? Tim was in his debt and it was a huge one at that. Why the fuckery were the old man's eyes suddenly twinkling like twin suns?

"If you are clever about it, and I have no doubt you are, then it might be good to prepare some questions for our resident medi-witch. She's a real treasure trove in all regards to the magical system and theory about it."

"So, it's a learning experience?" Harry asked sarcastically.

"If you want it to be... Anyhow, I complement you for your exemplary conduction in matters of house unity. It's rare these days."

"It wouldn't be if Snape wasn't here."

…

"Professor Snape, I mean." he said, half frustrated, half mocking. Dumbledore only smiled serenely and gave him a last bit of advice.

"Remember that no matter what side of the argument you are on, you always find people on your side that you wish were on the other."

* * *

**AN**: That's it for today. Hope you enjoyed it. The next chapter will be about the third task, finally!


	10. Chapter 10

Well, that's it, the tenth chapter! I apologize for the rather long delay, but as I already told some of you who asked me per pm, university started again and that practically cuts my time in half. Today was the first day in weeks, when I could just sit down and write. This chapter was rather strange to write, as I could finally bring all the ideas on paper that had hounded me during hours of boring lectures. In fact, I had so much ideas I didn't really know where to put them all :P

Anyway, have fun! If you have questions just ask, and I will do my best to answer them as always.

* * *

**Magicks of the Arcane  
**

Chapter X

* * *

**Hogwarts - 19. June 1995**

He didn't dislike the hospital wing, or to be more precise, his work in the hospital wing. No, contrary to his expectations, the detention he received for helping a fellow Gryffindor wasn't as bad as he had imagined, but... there were _certain_ qualities to it that annoyed him. Not the muggle borns that had just started their first year at Hogwarts and weren't able to brew a simple potion against colds; not the odd Slytherin he had to treat, their expressions of unreasonable fear leaving him in a constant state of amusement, but something worse – something more profound.

Harry grimaced and looked up from the stock list he was updating since the early morning hours, a task set by an irritated Madam Pomfrey, who thought she saw signs of boredom in his expression. However, not even that was the reason why he entered the wing disgruntled in the morning, and left it bad-tempered in the evening.

White.

White was a color he learned to hate during the two weeks he had already served his detention, or prison time as he liked to call it much to the chagrin of the resident medi-witch. The sheets were white, the chairs were white, and even the walls were painted in the infernal color. He thought that the whole wing felt out of place, that it didn't look like the rest of the castle, but his opinion wasn't important to the woman in charge, at least regarding her working place.

In fact, his constant hinting towards the abominable coloring was always met with a patronizing smile and a pat on his shoulder. Madam Pomfrey could be quite devious like that, but he didn't take it too badly as the woman had probably heard hundreds of complains about it during her tenure. After all, he couldn't be the only one who felt bugged out by it.

"Hello?"

His hand, still gripping the quill, halted in its movements as he was just about to write another available ingredient down, and he looked towards the direction from where the voice had broken him out of his musings. It was a young boy, probably second year, with a yellow trim on his robe.

"Yes, can I help you?" he asked.

"I feel like I'm getting a headache."

And indeed, Harry saw that the boy had an expression akin to pain plastered across his face. In the mundane world there was always the possibility that such things could be faked if one was a good actor, but in magical places it didn't matter. Purebloods never even got the idea to use illness as an excuse for skiving off of class as it was pointless if just the simple wave of a wand could reveal the truth. Madam Pomfrey mentioned once that there were always some first year muggle borns who tried it; tried and failed horribly.

He nodded and pulled a new parchment out of the drawer next to him. "Name?"

"Jack van Slater"

_A pureblood_, he thought and jotted down some notes. "Well, Jack, let's see what we can do."

He rose from the white chair and unsheathed his wand to weave figures into the air, already feeling the magic that rumbled beneath his skin, anticipating its release.

"_Quaesitum Calvaris._"

It was one of the many different spells Madam Pomfrey had taught him over the last week. They weren't terribly advanced and couldn't heal someone, but they unveiled the injury and served wonderfully as diagnostic spells. Without them, healers around the world wouldn't know how to treat their patients, what potions to use, which herbs to procure, or in general, how to heal someone. Often overlooked, disregarded, and unappreciated, this kind of magick was only studied by the few who chose the medical field as their profession.

He didn't really understand why it was so undervalued, as he found it quite useful, but guessed that it was due to the lack of flashy effects and noise. The only problem those spells presented was the existing amount of them, as they were either extremely specialized, or too general. 'Medicine is like life; you have to work your way up to get somewhere.', Madam Pomfrey had said and at first he had looked confused until she showed him what she meant.

The first four spells a healer should always use, were the ones that roughly identified the cause of the problem, whether it was external, internal, magical, or caused by the brain. Afterward, each spell that is further used only narrows down the search until a final diagnosis remained. That was the procedure followed in magical hospitals at least, but it didn't escape him that she inconspicuously tried to work small tidbits about battle healing into her explanations.

Thoughts flooded his mind, seconds after he used the spell, and he knew that the boy wasn't lying. Something was active in his brain, what exactly though, Harry had no idea. For any further diagnosis he would need magick above his current level of knowledge, and as they boy's words were confirmed he didn't bother to search for any other possible causes.

"Well, that's easy to solve. One question, though; why the infirmary? The headache potion is easy to brew and you should have learned it at the end of your first year."

The boy looked contrite for a moment, as if he was fighting an internal battle with himself and Harry had a good idea what troubled him.

"I- but- Snape..."

"Professor Snape, but it's alright. I understand."

He took great pleasure in throwing the headmaster's words around, always keen to see the reaction they evoked. "Wait here. I'm going to get you something."

Harry walked over to one of the many wooden shelves that lined the northern wall, and searched for the right vial, hidden behind hundreds of it's brethren. Snape was another matter altogether. The man was insufferable, petty and most of all, able to hold a grudge for decades. Which didn't make it all too pleasant to work alongside him whenever Madam Pomfrey had the fabulous idea to restock the shelves. Of course, he only brewed the easier potions, and Snape had the lion's share of work, but did that really justify five hours of snide remarks and comments?

It didn't make it easier that the man now knew about the identity of his silent assassin. Harry was sure that the bat would have left, hadn't he faked his eternal suffering due to the detention. It was an easy way to reduce his own workload and to see if Snape still legilimenced random people, or if Dumledore had already talked to him.

That the boy was scared of the potion master didn't come as a surprise, even though Snape was generally more pleasant toward purebloods, if only slightly.

"Here you go. Take a sip now, and then another one in five hours; tomorrow you'll be fit as a fiddle."

Harry grinned when he saw the grimace of disgust. The nearly always bad side effect of each and every potion was its disgusting taste, and often he wondered how something, able to heal the most serious wounds in a matter of minutes, could taste so horribly. Maybe it was an inside joke of the potion master guild?

"Potter!"

He turned around and saw a group of Slytherins walking towards him, but they weren't in his year, and they weren't tall enough to be anything above, so he only threw them a short look and his right hand, hovering in the vicinity of his wand, relaxed. It would be foolish not to regard them as a threat, as even a first year could do horrendous damage with a wand, but openly showing that he was watching their every move, anticipating their next step, calculating his own position according to it... it would leave him wide open to the mockery and derision of those that had the experience to know what he did.

"If that's all, Jack, why don't you go to your dormitory and rest a bit, eh? Headaches can be nasty business."

The Hufflepuff nodded and gave him a relieved smile before he walked out of the door. Maybe his work in hospital wing made it easier for some of the younger years to like him? He was on guard, but not overly concerned about the lengths they could go to, as it wasn't much, but to see even tiny first years stare at him, not curiosity, but terror and anxiety in their eyes; it wasn't a pleasant feeling. He had the feeling that with every student he diagnosed, healed, or relieved of his pain, the amount of frightened looks lessened, and that was indeed a cause for celebration.

At the moment however, he had to deal with the three Slytherins that had entered the infirmary, and so rudely interrupted his prior session. He glanced at the stack of parchment that was still lying on the table, and scrunched up his nose. Madam Pomfrey couldn't fault him if it remained unfinished, he had patients after all.

"Potter!"

"I heard you the first time. What can I do for you?" he asked.

"Where's Pomfrey?"

The lone girl in the group looked around the wing, her eyes searching for the medi-witch. He certainly understood why, but it amused him nonetheless. Slytherins really, really disliked being treated by a Gryffindor. They didn't know that Madam Pomfrey had made him swear a temporal oath, not unlike the Hippocratic oath, which made sure that he wouldn't intentionally harm anyone in the wing, and that he'd do his best to heal those that came for help. She was, in fact, very insistent on that part, and it stood to reason that it was one of the reasons why not more detentions took place in the infirmary.

The oath was written on special parchment, reserved for contracts and special occasions, where both, the time frame and the terms had to be written down. The gravity of such an oath was only heightened by the red liquid, his own blood, he had to sign it with. It was seldom a problem for the odd muggle born who didn't know about oaths signed in blood, but to propose it to a pureblood was another matter altogether. The principle that one had always to be careful with oaths, promises, and debts was ingrained into their minds from the moment they were born. Thus it would be a futile attempt to have them sign something like this just for a simple detention, and it were only the rare individuals that thrived under the prospect of helping others, that would even consider it. Sadly, such people were rare and it happened maybe once in a decade that someone took up the healing arts.

"Madam Pomfrey isn't here at the moment, but I might be able to help. What's the problem?" he asked, but he already knew what it was.

It was rather obvious as all of them sported some magical appendages. He had to admit, without being a pervert of course, that the girl looked rather cute with her cat tail. Hadn't he read something about it in a magazine once? _Nekos_ they were called in japan, or something like that.

She threw him a venomous look. "You can damn well see what's wrong, Potter."

"Right, forgive me..." he said.

He chuckled and pulled out his wand, eliciting small sparks as he wove it around the Slytherins who were observing him with distrust.

"That's rather advanced transfiguration work." he said. "Traces of potions too, and even some simple charms."

Harry walked around the group and muttered to himself, sounding more and more like the barmy wand maker Ollivander when he searched for the connection between a wizard and his wand.

"The Weasley twins got you good, huh?"

Their furious looks, and gritted teeth were all the confirmation he needed. "Curious, I thought that Fred and George only played pranks on fifth years, or above."

"Obviously not." the girl grounded out. Oh boy, Harry thought. She looked really angry, and he had to suppress the grin that threatened to form on his face.

"Well, it's no problem. I can fix that pretty quickly."

A few spells later the Slytherins walked away, and Harry congratulated himself on a job well done. He might have to talk with the twins tough. They normally didn't target people that were some years below them, and only in school wide pranks did those ever see their hidden genius.

It took another thirty minutes, in which he dutifully updated the stock list, until the fireplace flared green and Madam Pomfrey stepped out of it. She had forgone her usual clothes and was dressed in impeccable green robes, a white cross stitched on both shoulders. Wherever she had gone to, it must have been important, he mused.

"I see that you're still hard at work, Mr. Potter. Were there any complications?" she asked.

"A second year with a headache, and three third years which had the dubious pleasure of being pranked by the twins." he answered.

"So, only the usual it is. Well, let us not dawdle, Mr. Potter. They day is fresh and we still have much to do."

He looked at her, but saw no signs hinting towards further ventures. Well, only her sly smile... The woman definitely planned something, and in his experience it couldn't be something good, or pleasant.

"What exactly do we have to do?" he asked cautiously.

"We're going into the forest. Today is the only time when a certain species of fungus can be found, and we have to use that chance, of course."

"The forest?" he asked, and his eyebrows rose slightly. It wasn't that he was scared of the place, but for a staff member to casually propose a walk through it?

"Exactly. The headmaster set up some wards around the wing that will notify us if someone needs our help. Until then, however, we're going to harvest mushrooms."

In the end, no one needed their help, and they spent more than four hours in the forest where the medi-witch explained that it was the _Alba Punctis_ they were looking for, a mushroom belonging to the class of Fungi Medicae. It was colored in black and could be easily identified by the white dots on it.

* * *

**Hogwarts - 24. June 1995**

The last days of his detention went well, and although Harry had no ambitions to enter the healing business it was nice to know how to do it should the occasion arise. In the end he really had to thank the headmaster for setting up such an interesting detention. Snape would probably flip if he knew that Harry had fun while being punished for assaulting him.

At the moment however, all such thoughts were unneeded, as he was walking towards his destination. He had just been informed that the champions had half an hour they could spend with their family, and even if he knew that he had no real family left, he was curious to see if someone had come.

The sight that greeted him as he entered the room evoked feelings ranging between anger, gratitude and happiness. Professor Lupin sat at one of the tables, a black dog lying at his feet, snoring loudly.

_Sirius_.

"Harry, there you are!"

Moony sounded cheerful and waved his hand. "Here I am" Harry lowered his voice. ", but why is Sirius here? It's much to dangerous!"

The black dog had woken due to the werewolves shout and whined pitifully when it heard Harry's question. Lupin, however, wasn't bothered in the slightest and looked sternly at Harry.

"You should appreciate that he's here. He was on the sea for the last two months, just so he could support you."

"I- I know. I'm sorry Sirius, and I'm happy you're here. It's just..."

"Don't worry about it, Harry. The headmaster included Professor Flitwick in our little conspiracy, and both managed to come up with a temporal solution. It should hold for a few hours at least."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and knelt down to Padfood's level, stroking his fur. "That's good. I'm glad you're here, Paddy. When this is over we can finally have a talk."

The black dog barked in reply and for the next thirty minutes they talked about inconsequential things while Harry petted Padfood.

"Mr. Potter, it's time."

Professor McGonagall, who had lost her stern and aggressive attitude of the past, looked worried as she called him over. It had been months since he slighted her, and it looked like she finally got over it and saw how childish she had been. That were only assumptions of course, but otherwise he couldn't explain her change of behavior towards him.

"Right. Moony, Padfood, take care. I'll be back soon."

He and McGonagall walked alongside a path that led them to the entrance of the maze, where already he could hear the roaring crowd that had probably grown since the second task. He wondered if, like last time, there were some foreign dignitaries among them.

"Are you... prepared, Ha- Mr. Potter?" she asked, when they were only a few feet away from their destination.

"As prepared as I can be. I'll make it out of that maze, and if it's the last thing I do." he answered, and McGonagall's eyes widened slightly, when she saw the determination and fire that burned behind his green emeralds.

She had seen it once before, only once, when Albus Dumbledore had gripped his wand tightly and had been only moments away from dueling Gellert Grindelwald.

"That's good. I wish you the best of luck, Mr. Potter." she said, as they halted in front of the other champions. She probably hadn't intended for him to hear her words as she left him, but he heard them nonetheless.

"_And go thee with Merlin's strength,_

_For thou will need it all the length._

_Thou will need it where thou goes,_

_To slay and maim thine foes._"

_Wherever she got the poem from, it fits_, he thought as he walked over to his fellow contestants.

He gave Fleur a friendly nod and didn't bother with Cedric's, and Krum's angry stares. Why they couldn't just let him be, he'd never know.

"Hey, Fleur." he said cheerfully, and embraced her in a hug that she immediately returned. Tough, not without angling her a bit to the side so that no one could see how he copped a short feel of her ass.

"You're incorrigible, 'arry." she said and swatted his shoulder.

"Am I?" he asked.

His lewd grin, and his even lewder actions made her smile, and the tension that had found its way into her body vanished. She wondered if that had been his aim all along, and if it was, then he was simply one of a kind.

"Are you ready, 'arry?" she asked.

"Mhm," he hummed, and nodded. "It's not going to be easy, but I think I'll manage. Remember, Fleur, as soon as you have problems with one of Hagrid's pets forfeit. They are deadly, hell, the whole thing is deadly. No lousy cup his worth your life."

It was a promise he had wrought from her weeks ago, and while he himself wouldn't heed his advice, it was only because he had a better understanding of Hagrid's ways and was better equipped to deal with anything the friendly half-giant could throw at him.

"I know, I told you that the second task has made me change my priorities." she said, and leaned over to whisper in his ear. "By the way, you should take your hands off my ass now. My father has spotted you, I think, and he looks rather furious."

Like he had been struck with lightning, Harry reared back and frantically looked around trying to spot her parents, but it was a futile, and he knew it. There were thousands of faces staring at him, some curious, some happy, most of them, however, expectant.

Fleur laughed behind him, and as he turned around and saw her sly expression he had to laugh as well.

"You minx! Your father didn't see me, did he?"

"_Non_, not as far as I know, but your face was priceless."

He was about to retort, when Ludo Bagman's voice echoed throughout the premise, amplified by his _Sonorus_ charm.

"Ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards! I'm pleased to welcome you to the final, the third task of the Tri-wizard Tournament!"

His voice was as obnoxious as always, and as expected the crowd became even more rowdy, either cheering for their favorite, or cheering just for the sake of it. The atmosphere was eerily similar to the first, and second task, and he wondered if the underlying theme were the roman games. There was no emperor, no tribune to decide his fate with the simple movement of his thumb, but the deadly, bloody, and dangerous part... those they got right in one go.

"To win, our champions have to make their way through this maze, and touch the cup that's hidden in its center." he said, and left the crowd in suspense for a bit. "But the path is perilous, and many dangers await them if they want to earn eternal glory. So, who will make it? Who will become the new champion?" he cried out.

"Champions, get ready! You know the order, and as soon as the gong sounds, the entrance will reveal itself."

* * *

Harry stretched his arms, and looked towards the dark, and menacing looking hedges that hid everything behind them. His first idea had been to burn them down, but after standing only a few minutes near them, he abandoned it. They were practically saturated with magic, magic that made him highly uncomfortable. It wasn't dark per se, but it had a slightly sinister feeling to it.

He patted his basilisk armor absentmindedly as a breeze rustled his red cloak. It would protect him from most of the damage, or so he hoped, but that was by no means a guarantee that he would survive the maze.

_Well, if I go out, then with a bang_, he thought, and readied himself. As he had accumulated the most points, he would be the first to enter and had a head start of roughly two minutes. It wasn't much, but each second would help.

A loud, metallic sound made its way to his ears, and without paying Bagman any attention, he ran into the maze, ready to draw his wand at a second's notice. After a while, maybe three or four minutes, he halted in front of a junction that offered him three possible ways to take. Seconds ago he had heard the gong again, and knew that the next champion had entered the maze, just a few steps behind him.

Nevertheless, he couldn't allow himself to make mistakes because he wanted to hurry through the task, so he decided to take it slow for the rest of it, not running, but walking instead.

Harry turned to the right, and as he stepped onto the path that probably led to his first obstacle, he noticed how the hedges behind him moved, and entangled themselves until the entrance was no more. _The maze really was alive_, he thought in wonderment and walked further along the small path.

It made sense he supposed. The crowd was watching them through the small runic devices they had also used during the second task, and it would become boring quickly if each champion took the same route, and encountered the same threats. Threats, and riddles that might have already been solved by other contestants.

As he walked around a corner, a very, _very_ familiar gurgling resounded, and for a second Harry flinched as if he had been struck.

_Please, don't let it be a-_, he thought, but jumped away quickly, and dived out of the way of an incoming humongous body.

"I hate you, Fate!"

He rolled out of the dive and drew his wand, while unsheathing the Sword of Gryffindor that was clasped to his belt. In front of him stood the probably ugliest creature in the history of breeding: gray, shiny scales that served as an armor for its repulsing, red flesh; a large stinger on its back, and on its rear, a slimy bubble that looked like it could explode at any second.

In short, a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

The thing had grown since he last saw one of them, and now it looked even more lethal with the stinger that was as long as he was tall. Why Hagrid considered them cute, he would never now. According to some books, breeding like that, the grotesque mixture of a Manticore and a Fire crab, was illegal, and he wondered what idiot had given him the permission to do so for the tournament.

The stinger shot forward, and he jumped out of it's way, barely noticing how it impaled itself deeply into the spot he had stood on. Skrewts obviously didn't like their prey escaping, and with a resounding boom the bubble on its rear exploded, propelling it toward Harry.

He saw the large mass of disgusting flesh coming his way, and barely had the time to raise his wand.

"_Conduro!_"

A pebble on the ground was transfigured into a slab of stone that stood between him and the monster, and was quickly charmed to be more resilient to physical impacts. Whether the charm he had used to harden his knife when carving runes had any effect, he didn't know, but if it had he was thankful for it. Even charmed, the slab was turned into rubble by the impact, and he quickly rolled backward in the desperate attempt to evade the various pieces of rock that flew his way.

Those things were bloody impossible!

He tried to charm the hedges to entangle the beast, but as they were saturated with strong, foreign magic, they didn't heed his command. The seconds his try had cost him were valuable indeed, and he had wasted them. Again, the stinger was on the move, and rushed toward him with incomprehensible speed.

"_Accio_ rubble!" he screamed, and piles of stone flew in its way, barely halting the advance.

But once again his luck held true, as the Skrewt had overestimated its reach and the deadly looking spike stopped barely inches away from Harry's face. Was that poison he saw dripping from it? When had Hagrid added that particular feature? His revulsion only grew, as he saw that the bubble on its rear, that had exploded to make the Skrewt's quick movement possible, slowly regrew. If his estimation was right, than he had to evade another body slam in the next minutes.

The stinger was about to retreat, trying to rearrange itself for another attack, but Harry had none of it.

"Oh no, you don't!"

With a roar he swung the sword in his left, and tried to cleave through the thick tail, only for his eyes to widen as the blade rebounded on the hard scales. He had to take a step back to get the vibrating sword back under his control. It was enough time for the Skrewt to launch another attack, and Harry started to get frustrated with the lack of progress in the fight.

"_Sagitta! Percutere! Debiles Fulmen!_"

He sidestepped another swing of the stinger, and flung curse after curse, and spell after spell at the creature that posed such problems to him. "_Reducto! Aquapilatum!_"

_Of course, the scales had to be magic resistant_, he thought, and became thoroughly annoyed with the beast in front of him.

The boom was all the warning he got, and with reflexes honed in years of playing as a seeker he whirled out of the way, performing a strange looking pirouette, the cloak billowing behind him. The sweat on his brows was cooled as the large body shot past him, mere inches away from his face.

That was it, that was the chance he had been looking for!

He ended his twirl, his wand rising in tandem, and sent a powerful _Depulso_ at the Skrewt that was still in mid-fly. It pushed the creature away, and toppled it, until finally, with a resounding thud, it landed on its back.

Harry noticed how it tried to get itself in an upright position with the help of its tail, but it was too late, and with a primal scream he took a running jump and stabbed the Sword of Gryffindor right through its unprotected belly, moving and turning it for good measure.

For a few moments, the only sounds that could be heard were emitted from the hedges, and the screeching of his dying foe. They lasted until he pulled out the sword and slumped to the ground.

_That_, had been one hell of a fight. Curse Hagrid, and his blasted breeds. He really needed a minute to gather his breath before he could continue. Hopefully, there wasn't another Skrewt somewhere in the maze.

* * *

The crowd was excited as it watched how Harry made his way through the maze, and the people cheered loudly when he managed to slay the creature that had blocked his way. Counting to them were also the foreign dignitaries that had visited Hogwarts during the second task, but this time around, they were joined by many of their colleagues, be they from a ministerial level, from other political factions, or from other nations altogether.

Many of them came to see another spectacle like the one Harry had conjured in the lake, but even if the magic he had used to defeat the Skrewt was basic, it entertained them nonetheless. There simply was something alluring to a desperate fight to the death, or so they thought. The hope that the boy-who-lived would pull another incredible ace out of his sleeve was high, and many waited for the moment when he was forced to reveal his powers.

It was a shame, really, that only a few of them watched how the other champions fought their way through the maze, braving the obstacles on their path.

Asmund Hálfdan, who had rescheduled many important political, and business meetings as soon as words of the third task had reached his ears, was concentrating on the young Potter. He had been mesmerized by the lad's power during the second task, had looked incredulous when he had read the reports on the first task, and now waited eagerly to see what kind of tricks the young man would show him.

"Young Potter's skill has increased considerably, has it not?" asked Einarr Hallstein, Norway's minister, who had programmed the runic device to constantly repeat the scene when Harry had twirled out of the way, and simultaneously casted a banishing charm at the Skrewt.

"That it has, Einarr. That it has. I wonder though, where the limit of his potential lies."

"Who knows, but it's clear that we haven't seen everything yet." the minister said, and scratched his beard. "It might be prudent to have our eyes on him. I don't think he'll delve into the darker aspects of magic, but one can never be too careful."

"True, but remember he's Dumbledore's favorite. I can't imagine that the old man would allow his disciple to study something like Necromancy, or black magic."

"Old man? As if you're one to talk, Asmund. Might I remind you that you yourself are ninety-seven years old?"

The minister was deeply amused by the cross look that appeared on the Earl's face. "And you know that Dumbledore's knowledge isn't just constricted to light, and gray magic. If the situation calls for it, I'm sure that he can use dark spells many of us haven't even heard about."

"No, you might not remind me. You're the minister now, but don't forget that I taught you how to walk when you had barely reached the age to do so. What you say is true however, and I can't say that I find the image of him becoming a dark wizard particularly pleasing."

"Well, anyway. For the moment he seems to have an excellent grasp on his powers, and emotions. We'll see what happens, but there's no need to fear him."

"Right you are, dear friend. Look, it seems like he's finally ready to continue." the Earl said, and with a twitch of his finger the privacy bubble that had surrounded them collapsed.

* * *

Harry, who had finally gathered his wit, and whose breath had evened out during the short period of rest, rose to his feet, and sheathed his sword. At the first junction he had randomly decided which way he would go, but after encountering something as lethal as the Blast-ended Skrewt, he felt that it might be prudent to use a locator spell when he reached another one.

For now, however, there was only one way, and that was forward.

"_Fieri Inolens. __Lenis Planipes._"

Cautious he moved alongside the hedges, his wand tightly grasped in his right hand. The two charms that had helped him to remain undetected at Hogwarts finally found their use in the tournament, and he was glad that he had learned them.

The Skrewt hat caught him off-guard, and now he'd hopefully get a good chance for a first shot at his next target. He trekked along the path, not bothering with the menacing sounds the hedges made, until a sudden smell assaulted his nose.

A smell that he knew all too well, and had encountered once before. Had they really- were they really dumb enough to do something like that? It couldn't be, it just couldn't... He took a deep whiff, trying to ascertain that it was indeed the smell he thought it was; his nostrils flaring as he did so.

No bloody way...

They couldn't have chained a dragon into the maze, right? They just couldn't be so monumentally stupid, but why else would the distinctive smell of sulfur assault his nose? It was nearly the same he had encountered when he had fought against the dragon, and the thought that he had to do it once again made him shiver.

With tentative steps he walked around the corner, already preparing himself for another bout of mortal combat, but what he saw made him sigh in relief.

No dragon...

The area in front of him was something akin to a swamp, acid bubbles building on its surface, popping whenever they reached their boiling point. It wasn't nice, it wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't a dragon either, and that alone made him relax his tense muscles.

A swamp was far easier to deal with, but still, it needed consideration. Just for the fun of it, he threw a pebble into it, looking on in amazement how it didn't even sink, but dissolved the moment it touched the liquid.

Well, walking across it with a charm was out, as was his initial idea of transfiguring something into a boat to row through it. No, he would be dead before he even reached the middle point that was marked by a small speck of land, where a gnarly tree stood tall and proud.

He sat down cross-legged, and thought about his options. It wasn't that hard of an obstacle, but he wanted to solve it without any damage to himself, and unfortunately that also excluded his crazy idea of jumping across it, propelling himself forward with the _Venti Flamini_ spell that had helped him tremendously during the second task. Well, he had another idea. It might be a bit taxing on his reserves, but it would definitely get him to the other side.

The decision made, Harry stood up.

"_Wingardium Leviosa._"

One of the many stones that littered the ground rose, and he levitated it over to the other side, where he positioned it in a precise manner. The next part would be a bit harder, as multiple transfiguration, or better said, transfiguration that started at two points and ended in one, was rather difficult.

His wand was in constant motion for the next thirty seconds, and he did his best to gauge exactly how much magic he needed for this little feat; the result became clear shortly afterward. From both sides, pebbles transformed into steps that evened out at some point and connected in the middle of the swamp, around three feet above the acid, and with enough width to make the passage over his self-made bridge comfortable.

It definitely wasn't his best piece of transfiguration, and he considered adding some guardrails, and pillars to make it look more imposing and refined, but in the end he decided against it. The bridge was simple, and it served its purpose perfectly. He didn't know what would await him further into the maze, and it would be rather pointless if he exhausted him at such an early stage.

When he reached the other side, he collapsed the bridge with a flick of his wand. Some of his fellow champions might have found a way to circumvent the maze's mechanisms, and it just wouldn't do to leave evidence of his solution for them. Let them think for themselves.

He wondered which of the teachers had implemented the swamp. There were many possibilities after all, but he'd bet on Snape for that one. Acid swamps that devoured anyone wanting to pass was exactly the bat's style. Then again, it could also have been the headmaster who just had to apply some of his alchemy knowledge, transmuting a normal body of water into what he just had crossed.

Harry arrived at another junction, and shook his head. This was no time to engage in idle thoughts, even if the obstacles were fairly interesting – interesting, and lethal.

"_Monstrate Locus_ Triwizard Cup."

Unfortunately, the location spell didn't work, and no directions entered his head like they had done in the second task. Had he done it wrong?

"_Monstrate Locus_ Triwizard Cup!" he said again, this time a bit more forceful.

The result, however, left him wanting. Had they really charmed the maze against such spells? How juvenile!

"Should have know..." he grumbled, and pulled a Galleon out of his pocket. "Well, ugly Goblin head is right, and Gringott's symbol is left."

The coin whizzed through the air, and as it descended he caught it expertly. "Ugly Goblin head it is." he said, and walked towards the right path.

Unbeknown to him, Fleur, who had shot red sparks into the air mere seconds before, was checked by Madam Pomfrey and two other healers they had on stand-by. Her first obstacle, a field of golden mist that inverted directions, had been easily cleared, but later on she fell prey to the incredible difficult question of a sphinx. Now, she, like many others, watched as Harry made his way through the maze.

_The maze was huge_, Harry concluded after he had walked on his current path for the last fifteen minutes. The only problem he had encountered so far, were the rowdy hedges that sometimes decided to edge closer toward him, but he quickly constricted them with a few wooden constructs he had transfigured without breaking his stride.

Fire spells, at least the commonly used ones, proved to be rather useless as the hedges had been charmed to be fire proof; definitely Professor Flitwick's work. It was only on the next clearing, that movements caught his eyes, and within seconds the drums of war, once again, pounded in his ears.

He knew that he shouldn't enjoy fighting as much as he did, but he didn't care. The Blast-Ended Skrewt had been grotesque, and it was a beast he didn't really know how to handle, but this... these enemies were equally ugly, but they were also familiar.

He knew exactly how to deal with them, and a feral grin split his face. That was it, that was the feeling he had missed during all the months of preparation. Adrenalin pumped through his body, and he unclasped his sword.

"Come at me, you hideous beasts!" he shouted eagerly, not bothered at all by the sound of pincers hitting together.

Four Acrumantulas.. Now, that were odds that he liked.

"_Rumpii Ignem!_"

The Sword of Gryffindor was bathed in flames, and without even considering the risks, Harry ran towards the arachnids, his sword leaving a fiery trail behind it.

* * *

"Albus..." Professor McGonagall massaged her throbbing head, and turned to the venerable headmaster that sat next to her.

"Yes, Minerva?" he asked, his eyes twinkling like twin suns.

"What exactly have you taught Mr. Potter?"

"I? Why does everyone insist that I was the one who taught him?" he retorted.

The Bulgarian minister, Savolski, who sat next to McGonagall wasn't impressed by the innocent facade, and snorted. "Don't be a fool, Albus. We know that you had a hand in it. He's good, granted, but not that good."

"I think you underestimate him. Harry, like his father and grand-father had, has unbelievable potential. Besides, you know that the oaths prevent me from helping him."

"I concur." came a voice from behind them that many instantly recognized as Madam Bone's. "The boy has an incredible aptitude for combat magicks, at least that's what his marks suggest."

Dumbledore turned to her, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. "You accessed his records, Amelia?" he asked, and the Director of the DMLE shrugged.

"He interested me, so I looked at them. Very good on the practical side of things, but rather weak in theoretical matters."

She narrowed her eyes when a laugh resounded to her left, and the group looked towards Sven Stigr, the Swedish minister, and the only man that was even close to Dumbledore's age. "We always underestimate such people as they're usually rather bad at school. If I remember correctly, and please interrupt me if I do, Albus, you were the same until Master Flamel took pity on you."

"He didn't take pity on me." Dumbledore countered serenely. "Rather it was me, that thought the man was getting to old and needed to leave a legacy."

Talking about his former mentor Nicolas was seldom a happy occurrence, especially as he was now deceased due to his mistakes, but he didn't let it show on his face. They were friendly, and jovial, but they were politicians nonetheless.

"As if!" laughed Stigr. "Wasn't it you, who nearly failed his OWLs because you exploded your cauldron as your examiner was directly next to you?"

"All lies, I assure you." he answered.

"Anyway, your student is a bit reckless though. Look, he's running at them."

And everyone, Dumbledore, the teachers, the ministers, and anyone who listened into their conversation turned toward their devices, their eyes firmly glued on the shape of one Harry Potter, who had just charged into a small group of Acromantulas.

* * *

Harry never knew that he was the favorite topic of the most influential people in Europe as he evaded the angry Acromantulas, and weaved through them, sword and wand moving in a flurry of motion.

"_Sagitta!_"

An arrow shot out of his wand, and missed the incoming spider by inches, but he didn't worry and instead continued to frighten the one to his left with his sword. The Arachnids were rather adverse to fire, and it showed as they back away each time his sword came even close to them.

It held them at a certain distance, but it was also unsatisfying, and he had to resort to his spells for the battle. Spells of which the most misses due to their quick movements. Acromantulas were fairly resistant to magic, but that didn't mean they couldn't be hurt by it like the Skrewt, or a dragon. It just took more power, or physical force for them to have an impact.

"_Incendio!_"

The stream of fire held back two of them, but he wasn't finished; this time he would get one, he swore.

"_Petrae Ictui!_"

He flung the spell instantly after his _Incendio_ had ended, and a large stone rose out of the earth, smashing into on of them, nearly splattering its innards all across the clearing. He was about the slash through the one to his right, finally having got close enough to do so, when it heaved itself upwards and jumped over him.

_That_... was the more annoying trait of Acromantulas. Despite their rather large size, those eight legs they possessed packed quite some power, and it made for a lethal attack when they engaged their prey in aerial combat.

The spider that was currently several feet above him, dropped a large package of silvery, gray substance, and Harry quickly jumped aside. That he knew how to deal with them didn't exactly exclude that he could die should they catch him.

It descended, and he took precise aim with his wand.

"_Sagitta!_"

This time the arrow hit home, and impaled the spider as it was just about to land. He snapped another _Incendio_ toward the two remaining Arachnids that were about to attack him, and made them back off, until he finished with the second one.

The time he bought himself proved to be valuable, and he fired more arrows at the still moving body, until it was peppered with them.

Nice, he thought. That left only two of them, and now that the main threat had lessened, he noticed how the pounding in his ears became weaker. Slowly, but surely, the excitement was wearing off, and what remained was the tedious work of a clean-up job.

With his flanks cleared he had more options to do it, and in the end he decided to make it quick. With trained movements, Harry flung two _Reductos_ at them, heavily damaging two of the eight legs that he had aimed for.

"_Depulso._"

A flick of his wand later, and it was down to him and the last Acromantula, as its brethren was lying upside down and jerked its remaining six legs around.

"Well, that's it." he said, and suppressed the sudden urge to ask the spider if it had any last words.

He took aim, ready to fire off another _Reducto_, and-

His head spun around so quickly, one could have thought his neck had snapped. That was definitely not the sound of trampling hooves when a group of centaurs neared. No, this was trampling, but of a heavier kind. Thumping sounds echoed through the clearing, and he considered himself to be a specialist in reading animal's emotions as he thought that the Acromantula looked as confused as he did.

Maybe it even felt hope?

The sounds got louder and louder, and Harry readied himself mentally for another enemy – an enemy that was probably more lethal than the spiders. That seemed to be his fate, after all.

What happened, however, was unexpected and surprising, and the Acromantula, hadn't it been dead already, might have felt the same. A small path had suddenly opened in the hedges, and it clearly revealed the cause of the weird thumping sounds.

The spider had no time to consider its bad luck as it was instantly speared on the two gigantic horns of the bull like creature that had trampled through the small passage. It was truly massive, he thought. Definitely as big as Aragok, and those large horns it possessed didn't really do much to assure Harry of his survival.

"A Bicorn, really?" he said, his voice an odd mixture of incredulity, exasperation, and excitement.

The massive beast just moved its head to the side, and the impaled body of the Acromantula slid of his horns. Either this already was Voldemort's yearly attempt on his life, or the organizer of the tournament really wanted to kill them.

Hadn't Ainsley, the guy from the Hunter guild, spoken about them during the yuletide ball? They weren't as dangerous as Basilisks, or dragons, or a lot of other beasts, but they still needed a team of at least three hunters to take down. An imagine ran through his mind, and somehow he got the feeling that it was that sodding, bowler head-wearing pile of dragon dung, that had thought it would be a splendid idea to include a Bicorn in the tournament.

Anyway, now he had to concentrate on the fact that he had to fight it. It wouldn't be easy, but it was doable, or so he thought, and he even had an idea to avoid the fate that had befallen the Acromantula. Being speared didn't sound all that good to him.

Yes, that could wo-

The Bicorn decided to interrupt his inner monologue, and reared back on his legs, making itself ready to charge at him. Harry, however, had long lost his fear of impossible odds, and how couldn't he after all that had happened?

"_Agumenti Scutum Tholus!_" he cried out.

Once again, he overpowered the shield and used one of its lesser known applications. This time at least, he had a good control on how much of his reserves went into the shield, and unlike the last time it wouldn't drain him as much.

Torrents of water sprung forth from his wand, and instead of forming the usual protective dome around him, it flooded the clearing. He was ankle-deep in water, but he knew that he had to be quick, or the ground would soak it up and his advantage would vanish.

"_Glaciei!_"

It was a charm that most students learned in their second year, and that was often used to prank someone, but despite its inherent simplicity it served him wonderfully at the moment. The water in front of him, or to be more precise, the water that the Bicorn was running on, turned into ice, and it didn't even take a second for the mighty creature to land flat on its face.

Harry's expression of determination didn't change though, as even if shortly made immobile, the Bicorn was still dangerous. It was quite warm in June, and the ice already started to melt away. _Anyway, there was no need to kill such a magnificent beast_, he thought, and with some swishes of his wand the next two spells, two layered_ Incarcerous_ ,took hold on it.

He turned around and walked away, wondering what the next obstacle would be. It couldn't be much more, as he had already spent quite a lot of time in the maze. Suddenly, a sound reached his ears that he desperately didn't want to hear.

Thundering thumping.

"What the-"

He turned around, barely noticing the remnants of his binding spells, and only had eyes for the really mad looking Bicorn that ran his way, becoming bigger and bigger by the second.

Shit, shit, shit... Magic was useless unless it affected its environment – a fact that he became painfully aware of as the creature was barely thirty feet away. He had to do something! He couldn't die just yet, speared by a fucking Bicorn of all things...

He was desperate, and the idea that he just got was equally as crazy and desperate, but what else could he do? It had worked once, even if under slightly different circumstances...

In one motion, Harry pulled the Sword of Gryffindor out of its sheath, and threw it with all his might at the incoming thing. His scream echoed throughout the maze, and time seemed to have slowed down. If it didn't work, he was sure that he'd die a painful death. People often said that during the last moments that a person spent on the living plane, they saw pictures of what had happened, or could have happened in their life; images of what could have been in the future.

Oddly enough, the only thought that went through his mind was about the lack of sexual activity he had in the last few months.

Time sped up again, and he roared in triumph as the sword embedded itself deeply into the Bicorn, the tip going all the way through until it left on the backside of its head. It had worked! Or had it? The mad beast didn't stop its advance and still thundered toward him.

Twenty feet.

Ten feet.

Five feet.

Harry became nervous again, and nothing remained from the feeling of triumph he had felt a second ago. Would he die, even if his plan had worked?

And just like that, three or four inches away from him, the Bicorn toppled to the side, dead, and lying in a pool of its own blood.

Relief flooded him, and he fell backwards into the grassy ground, laughing hysterically. He didn't care whether or not the spectators thought him crazy at that moment. He was alive...

He was alive!

* * *

The crowd of spectators was stunned. There was no other way to describe how they looked at the moment, and rightly so. What the Potter heir had just gone through was as incredible as it was gut-wrenching. Many times during his fight with the Acromantulas, or his bout of mortal combat with the Bicorn did they feel like their hearts had stopped.

Would that be the end for the famous boy-who-lived, a question permanently etched into the forefront of their minds.

Fleur, who sat between her parents with Gabby on her lap, had cycled between being red in anger at either the organizer of the tournament, or Harry's reckless decisions, and being as pale as a ghost whenever it looked like he had finally met his match.

"He is the one that took you to the ball,_ mon cherie_?" the incredulous voice of her father sounded to her left.

"_Oui_." she said, and nodded her head, smiling slightly at the starstruck expression on her little sister's face. Harry was her hero, and what he just had done hadn't only been incredibly foolish, but it also cemented the belief of the little girl that he could do no wrong, and that he was the greatest, just behind her father.

"He's... a bit unhinged, isn't he?"

"_Oui_..." she answered, and nodded again.

On another platform, the headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore smiled so brightly that the people in his vicinity feared to be blinded by it.

"Well, Albus, I see that you're happy with your student." said Stigr, and his eyes shone with amusement.

"Why yes, dear sir, I am. It was truly a remarkable show, wasn't t, Minerva?" he answered, and turned around to the deputy headmistress that was still chalk white.

"Mr. Potter, why- I never – I!"

Amelia Bones, who felt a bit squeamish herself, rested her hands on the Scot-woman's shoulders. "Don't worry, Minerva. I know exactly how you feel right now." she said.

"He does have remarkable luck though..."

"Luck? There vas no luck in thiz! Thiz vas pure skill, and instinct!" came the rough voice of Salvoski.

"I agree. By the way, where is Barty? I assumed he would sit with us."

Amelia looked around, but when she didn't find whatever she searched for, she turned to the headmaster. "Barty became sick, but I haven't seen his assistant Weatherby either."

"Weatherby?"

"Yes, flaming red hair, and freckles. A lot like Arthur, I believe." she said.

"Oh, you mean Arthur's son Percival. That's curious... I would have thought that he'd relish in the chance to talk with us."

Dumbledore frowned, and his happy mood vanished quickly. Something strange was afoot, he could feel it in his old bones, but he didn't know what it was and that made him edgy.

* * *

Harry, who looked like he was fast asleep, opened his emerald eyes, and jumped into an upright position. The shock of having been only inches away from certain death had finally worn off, and now he had to concentrate on finding the cup. It couldn't be far away now. He could feel it!

He resumed his walk through the maze, and two times he had to use the Galleon to decide which way he would go. It was silent, and creepy as he walked alongside the hedges, but in his opinion, creepy was way better than dangerous, lethal, or deadly.

He should really learn to keep his thoughts to himself...

The air was saturated with a disgusting stench, and it was the kind of stench he had last smelled three and a half years ago. Really? Another situation like that? The existence of one Harry Potter was really miserable sometimes, and the further he got into a new school year, the more miserable it became.

A mountain troll, as tall as it was ugly, stood in his way, and he just knew it with every fiber of his being that this would be last the obstacle he had to beat until the cup would be his. Fuck eternal glory, fuck the thousand Galleons... if he did it, he did it to get one over people like Viktor Krum, and Malfoy, who had done nothing but ridicule him since the whole thing started.

Given his first-hand experiences with the fugly creatures, his first look was aimed towards its club, and he did a double take when he saw it. What the-

…

Now, they had really outdone themselves. Someone, and he'd bet nearly all of his vault on Snape being that someone, had come up with the brilliant idea to secure the club to its hand with thick ropes. The bat had probably remembered how Ron, Hermione, and him had taken out their last troll. Miserable git!

Now, he could probably try the same thing as he did with the Bicorn, and transfigure water into ice, but somehow that felt cheap, and Harry Potter was many things, but definitely not cheap, or uncreative.

"Let's get this show on the road!"

That was it, the last obstacle, and by Merlin, he would make mincemeat out of the smelly thing!

"_Reducto! Petrae Ictui! Pungo! Pungo! Aquapilatum! Reducto! Debiles Fulmen! Reducto! Impedimenta!_"

Spell after spell crashed into the resistant hide of the troll, who just looked on dumbly at first, but was soon getting annoyed with it. Harry, though, didn't care about that, and with a blood-thirsty grin he threw magic around like candy. Various small pebbles were transfigured into large stones, and he banished them at the ugly creature, smashing them against every possible part of its body.

The troll was a disappointment, at least in comparison to the Bicorn, Harry thought. It couldn't withstand the onslaught, and with each rock that met its mark, it became weaker and weaker.

In the end, that was all it took, and after the troll had fallen to the ground, obviously dead, Harry walked on.

On towards his prize. The prize he knew had to be around the next corner!

* * *

**AN: **And there we go. I know, it's a rather evil cliff-hanger, but you have to let me have some fun :P

New spells used in this chapter were:

Rumpiis Ignem - Sets a sword ablaze

Glaciei - Turns water into ice


	11. Chapter 11-1

Hey guys, first of all: Real life has me firmly in its grasp and I just can't seem to find the time to write at the moment. That's why it will take a while for me to update the story. I'm hoping that I have the time around Christmas to finally continue without having to worry that I'm neglecting my studies. But, I'm not heartless and the few minutes I do manage to get free are spent writing. This is the reason for this rather short chapter... it's not complete, but I decided to upload the first part and will continue to update it until the final version of chapter XI is ready! Hopefully that compromise agrees with you (:

**Btw: 1008 Favs, and 1163 Follows! I'm mighty proud of those numbers, so let me thank you again for your support, your criticism and your fellowship of the story (=**

* * *

**Magicks of the Arcane **

Chapter XI

(Part I)

* * *

**Hogwarts - 24. June 1995**

It was something he had never felt before; a thrill he learned to love the moment his eyes zeroed in on the golden, splendiferous cup atop the marble pedestal in front of him. The intoxicating sense of victory shone in his eyes, poured out of his very being, consumed him like it had never done before, and left a tingling sensation throughout his body. He recognized it as his magic and smiled. It was just as eager as him to finally lay claim to the prize they had fought for – hand in hand, like a well-oiled machine they had worked, relentlessly at times, and in the end their efforts were worth it.

Step after step, and with each he took the cup came closer and the feeling of anticipation rose.

One step, his nostrils flared and he could nearly smell how is hard work finally paid off.

Another step, his eyes gleamed with unnatural power and he saw his reflection on the cup's surface. Soon it would be his. Eternal glory indeed - not the empty promises all those politicians spoke off, but a personal sense of glory that exceeded everything else.

A third step. Something was off, and he felt sensations of a different, of a conflicted nature, warring for supremacy. It stopped him in his tracks, because it wasn't the feeling of victory that prevailed in the end, but something else. The nearly drunken haze he had found himself in subsided and with it the emerald glow In his eyes. Then he heard them:

Drums of war, thundering in his ears like the angry Bicorn had done just minutes ago. They were noisy to point of deafening and he heeded their advice, their warning of the incoming danger.

'_That you suddenly entered the tournament wasn't a coincidence. Something will happen soon, most likely during the third task as I can't protect you then. Whatever you do, be very careful in the maze._', the words of his headmaster ran through his head like a mantra, and he certainly saw the wisdom in them. The phoenix feather wand glided easily into his hand. His eyes narrowed to slits, taking in everything around him, observing the area, analyzing what could be seen.

In mere seconds the roles had shifted; the hunter became the prey.

The dome that suddenly enclosed a substantial part of the maze bathed the area in blood-red light. It closed him in, it defined the playing field... but despite the situation's gravity his face remained uncharacteristically bloodthirsty. He knew that something was wrong with him, that no human should feel excitement for the prospect of a fight to the death, but he didn't care. He didn't allow himself to care, for being excited was better than being scared, and that was what counted when all words were spoken, all possibilities for a peaceful solution exhausted.

The faithful wand felt his anticipation and angry sparks of lightning escaped its tip. Voldemort, Trolls, Basilisks, Bicorns... he had beaten the odds many times before, against humans, against creatures – in the end it didn't matter. He would make sure that this time was no different.

The hedge to his right rustled.

"_Incendio!_", the spell missed its target, the fire-resistant hedges didn't even burn.

"Potter,"

His adversary had finally shown itself, and his eyes focused on the cause for this year's misery, taking in the ugly, disfigured face perched atop the equally hideous body.

"Professor," he said and twirled his wand, a habit he had acquired over the last weeks. "I could say I'm surprised, but then again... it would be a lie. _Reducto!_"

The spell bounced off of a shield he didn't recognize and crashed into the endless rows of hedges, obliterating a part of them.

"I'm still your professor, Potter. For all you know I could be here to help you."

The words were mocking and the smirk on Moody's face just beckoned him to lash out in righteous anger, but the drums of war still resounded in his head, overpowering every emotion but the few useful to slay an enemy. He didn't react to the taunt, for everything that wasn't helpful to eradicate his foe drowned in the mad symphony of war and bloodshed.

"_Ardere Sagitto!_"

The fiery arrows buried themselves deep into the ground, and Moody, who had sidestepped them with surprising agility, let loose a plethora of spells. Some of them with incantation, some without, but all looked deadly even if Harry recognized only a quarter of them.

He twisted and turned, he parried and shielded – it was a completely new experience. He should have been frightened, but oddly enough he wasn't. A duel to the death, not with a nearly mindless beast but with an intelligent adversary... an opponent of equal or better skill... it was exhilarating!

His speed aided him in another risky maneuver to avoid two different spells of sickly yellow color, and he found a small time frame between the barrage to unleash his own magic.

"_Hasta Glacialis! Petrae Ictui!_"

The professor seemed unperturbed as he moved his head to the right, avoiding the spear of ice, and took a step backward, letting the bolder sail by harmlessly, but Harry noticed the barely perceptible narrowing of his eyes, the tiny adjustments in his stance. That he had even found an opening, as small as it had been, had surprised the man.

* * *

The spectators were confused, Fudge in a frenzy, Fleur and very few others worried as the headmaster and some professors broke out into a run towards the maze. Just seconds ago, the monitoring devices had stopped working and the view became fuzzy, changing the atmosphere from excitement into something that couldn't quite be grasped.

It took few but valuable minutes until Dumbledore arrived at the edge of the dome, having blasted and magicked his way through every obstacle without breaking his stride. It left the people that accompanied him in awe, as they had problems following him when they hadn't even anything to do.

"Albus, what is this?"

McGonagall sounded frightened and she had every right as it was, once again, one of her lions that found itself in mortal peril. The headmaster didn't answer and continued to wave his wand through the air, his face a mask of concentration. The stern professor was shocked to see small beads of sweat trickling down the man's forehead after just a few seconds.

"Albus?", she asked again.

Dumbledore didn't turn around, his eyes steadily fixed on the red dome when he answered. "Wards. Strong wards. Hopefully Harry has the sense of mind to call Hedwig."

"Hedwig? But, Albu-"

"Don't waste time, Minerva! Get people here that can help! Hálfdan, Salvoski... anybody!", he grunted out and attacked the ward with new vigor. It were only five minutes until the professor returned with several experienced wizards in tow, but to the headmaster it felt like an eternity. A sigh of relief escaped him when the strain lessened considerably and the other dignitaries worked alongside him. They were silent for the most part, but the questions in their looks were undeniable.

Hálfdan was the first to break the silence, and while his wand was in motion he asked the question that was on everyone's mind. "What happened, Albus? The tombs of our most cherishes ancestors don't have this kind protection..."

"I fear it's- Watch out!"

Amelia who had arrived seconds after the dignitaries reacted instinctively and back away. She barely avoided the angry red sparks that lashed out, disintegrating the pieces of her cloak they managed to reach.

"Careful Madam Bones, these aren't wards that Aurors are likely to encounter in their careers." Stigr said, his eyes never leaving the red magic in front of him. "You were saying, Albus?"

"The most likely culprit is either Voldemort himself, or one of his henchman. I'm not sure though, how he managed to set this up."

"Voldemort? I assumed he is dead."

The Supreme Mugwump didn't answer, but his steely expression was unmistakable.

"Anyway," Salvoski said, "let's concentrate on the matter at hand. This could take a while..."

Minerva McGonagall dreadfully regretted that she had never taken any interest in warding as she watched them break, or trying to break the red dome.

* * *

"Tired, Potter?"

Harry didn't reply, but it irked him that the man in front of him was right. Despite all his training, his incredible advances in magic, he wasn't sure if he would be able to kill the professor. The thrill hadn't lessened, but slowly the thirst for victory started to mix with the strong will to survive. It was bad, it made him hesitate at moments he shouldn't and gave his enemy more space to work with.

He ducked under another spell and quickly dove into a roll to avoid the purple light that rushed toward him. It sailed over his head, missing by inches, but he felt it. Oh, he definitely felt it, and the hairs on his neck rose as another cutting curse grazed his cheek.

He needed an edge and he needed it fast!

"_Furvus!_ What's up, Potter? _Fragosus!_ To scared to speak?"

It was a close call to avoid the first spell, a beam of nothing but pitch-black color, but he didn't got away in time to dodge the second one. It cost him and with a cry, half in pain, half in fury, he stumbled two steps and crashed against the pedestal that held the cup.

There was no time for large sequences of diagnostic spells, but he didn't need them anyway. It took no medi-witch to know that the spell had broken his left hand.

Something felt wrong though, aside from the obvious, and his eyes frantically searched the area for the reason why his enemy's face was one giant smirk. Moody swished his wand and the cup rose above him. The cup? Why the cup? For a moment he thought that the professor wanted to bash his head in with the useless piece of metal, but that didn't make sense.

Ideas, possibilities, his mind was coming up with reasons in a frenzy, and when his train of thoughts finally reached an end he didn't like it at all. It took all of his willpower not to cry out as he leaned to the left, straining his broken hand, to avoid the cup that was most likely a Portkey to god knows where.

It landed an inch away from his body. No time to waste!

"_Venti Flamini!_"

With a gust of wind the cup sailed away, and he allowed himself to smile as he saw how the professors face twisted into a mask of pure rage.

"Not like that, professor."

He jumped up, the adrenalin cursing through his body momentarily numbing the pain in his hand, and faced the man that looked about to explode.

"_Percutere! Sagitta! Debiles Fulmen!_"

Moody's rage had made him lessen his caution and Harry took the precious few seconds to initiate a string of attacks that heralded the second round. Spell after spell crashed into shields, swords, knives, arrows, all kinds of weaponry was transfigured and their remains littered the battlefield.

It was a truly sick kind of dance, completely disfigured in its function as one moved, jumped, and ducked with grace and agility while the other held his place, never moving, firm like a rock, but with decades of experience to back up his arrogance.

"_Animatus Bellatorius! Conduro!_"

His shield broke again and he quickly sidestepped the incoming spell, transfiguring a small pebble into the mighty stone warrior he had used during the first task. Animation and hardening charms at least gave it the possibility to make some damage.

A few seconds later the statue wasn't standing anymore, but knelt in front of Harry to give him value seconds to catch his breath. So much for that idea...

The third round started and even after they had already fought for what seemed like hours, the intensity hadn't lessened one bit. It might even have risen above a level Harry thought possible.

"_Agumenti Scutum Tholus!"_

He had high hopes that it might work as it had done against the Bicorn, but Moody didn't even twitch when he countered with a greater drying charm, leaving nothing that could be turned into ice.

"This is taking too long, Potter. _Fragosus! Ignem Aestifer! CRUCIO!_"

He avoided the bone breaker, and was nearly consumed by hate when he saw the fire of darkness that had burned his familiar not too long ago, but what really worried him was the _Cruciatus_ curse. If that hit him it would be game over. He didn't want to use Hedwig, felt that it would cheapen his win and lessen the excitement, but if he had only that option or visiting Voldemort... With naught but a thought, Hedwig flashed in above him and he reached for her feathers.

"No!"

Moody let out a bloodcurdling scream and yanked his wand around, slightly altering the path of the _Crucio_. It hit his familiar head on, and once again Harry felt a kind of rage flood him that was going beyond simple feelings of hate. He quickly assaulted the professor, his wand spitting out spells at the rate of a modern machine gun, while Hedwig lied twitching on the ground just a few feet away.

The crescendo of violence was at its peak when the fourth round started, but he had no intention to drag the fight out any further. He had an idea, and if it worked, he might be able to best the professor despite the odds that stood against him.

"_Glaciei! Reducto!_"

It worked! During a short lapse of attention, Harry got in the two spells that were the most important ones out of the probably twenty he had fired over the last few seconds. Moody's peg-leg froze to ice and was instantly shattered once the _Reducto_ had hit its mark.

He ached all over, his breath was labored, the pain in his left hand and various large gashes returned, but he finally smelled superiority. The professor's expression was twisted and hateful, but he didn't care. The victory was his, he just knew it as he wove his wand, intending to finish the bastard off in fiery inferno that would surpass even the legends about hell itself.

"_Accio! Accio!_"

Harry jumped back, but became confused when the two accio'd items didn't sail toward him, but straight into Moody's hand.

"No! Fuck!"

His cry of fury echoed over the now empty field. Moody had left with the cup, a bloody knife held victoriously in his hand.

* * *

**AN:** Only 2,5k words x_X I felt like I wrote a lifetime on the first part... Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it so far! Leave reviews if you want, and if not I'm not bothered either :P


	12. Chapter 11-2

Phew, well here's the second part of Chapter XI (= With this chapter the fourth year of our beloved hero is completed, and now all we can do is to look forward for new adventures. I'm sure there are plenty waiting for the chosen one :P

* * *

**Magicks of the Arcane**

Chapter XI

(Part II)

* * *

**Hogwarts 24. June 1995**

The evening had gone by in a rush.

Every problem that had lined up over the year culminated on this unfortunate date and shifted the atmosphere in the castle remarkably. The sense of anticipation – of feverish waiting – was replaced by the damning knowledge of what had truly transpired.

As far as he knew of it at least...

There was no way to tell what kind of terror would be brought upon the world. It would coat them in darkness, cling to them like black ink, and the instigator, the cause for the pain that was about to befall them, was clear.

_Voldemort_.

The beast, once a young boy seduced by the allure of black magicks, had become the monster people associated him with whenever his name was uttered. And even those powerful wizards, those of supposed might and authority, those people that the magical world relied on to lead them into better times... they only whispered the name, fear written across their faces in the hushed conversations about the most evil of them all – the self-styled dark lord.

He had been furious when Moody escaped, his rage palpable to everyone around him and only superseded by the sense of dread that had suddenly started to weight him down. At the end of his Pyrrhic victory he hadn't recognized the importance of the blood smeared dagger, and only later when his anger had finally subsided did the man's action make sense. Too much sense in fact, and combined with the escape it signified the undeniable truth – the future was about to look much bleaker than it did before.

The cushy armchair welcomed him like an old friend as he sunk deeper into it and looked at Fawkes' golden perch.

"_Salvation_," he said.

His voice wasn't broken, but it lacked its usual strength. _He_ wasn't broken. But, like his voice, he slouched as he contemplated what was to come.

"You're pretty bald, Fawkes. Cancer?"

For a second the black, beady eyes stared back at him. Then the fiery bird started to screech and Harry grimaced. Jokes in bad taste where never good to lighten up a bad situation... he wondered though, whether Fawkes reacted out of personal anger – annoyance more likely – or out of sympathy for all the ill people that actually had cancer.

The Phoenix was the symbol for good after all, and it wouldn't be strange for Fawkes to get enraged on behalf of the poor souls that died slow, agonizing deaths.

_Agonizing_.

It was a fine word to describe his current situation, and like he had done so often in the past hours, he looked toward the grandfather clock on the wall. Around two hours ago, the headmaster had closed the door to his office and locked Harry in. He wanted to feel annoyed about it, but resisting would have been futile anyway. Dumbledore, while crazy at times, was no fool and knew that throwing him into another life threatening situation just after he managed to escape the last one would be unjustifiable.

He had to wait for the bearded wizard to return with new information, possible solutions, or simply to instill new hope in him. _He_ hated waiting.

_Tick, tack_ – the fingers of the clock moved tortuously slow.

_Tick, tack, thud_.

_Thud_? He craned his neck and looked toward the door, his wand covertly pointed at it. A thud wasn't the sound he usually associated with the headmaster. The door opened, and when he saw who stepped through it, he fired the first spell that came to mind.

"_Reducto!_"

It wouldn't do much damage if the surprising visitor managed to shield in time, but one could always hope for the odd shrapnel that might hit after the blast. He jumped across the desk, disregarding the large amount of parchment that flew through the air, hoping it would provide some form of concealment. Safely secured behind the table he was about to fling another piece of deadly magic at the intruder.

"Harry!"

Dumbledore's voice? For a second he considered if the old man had joined the other camp. But... well, _that_ was rather unlikely. Had Dumbledore been swayed by the decades old bond of friendship? There was no time for hesitation. A good, solid strike of electricity should to the job.

"_Debiles Ful-_"

"He's the real one!"

Harry hesitated and cursed himself for it. Hesitation was a surefire way to die early. Wait, real one? Then the false one... _Polyjuice_?

"Prove that you're the real one,"

"What are you talking about, boy. We haven't-"

"Not you," he grounded out. "Dumbledore! Dumbledore has to prove that he's the real one."

"I-" the man with the headmaster's voice began, but his voice wavered.

"One!"

"I-, Harry do we have to do this?"

"Two!"

"I like to drink more than what might be considered appropriate," Dumbledore said. _That _was definitely information not many people were privy to. So, if the heated exclamation of '_the real one_' was to be believed... it meant that the Moody he had fought had been a fake. Maybe it had been Wormtail? There was always hope...

The bloodthirsty grin on his face must have shown, because, when he rose out of his protective stance behind the desk, the disfigured face of the man he had fought mere hours ago was the picture of a malicious smile. The real Moody probably had the same, or similar thoughts.

"Was it Wormtail?"

The grin stretched to its breaking point, but sadly the man shook his head. He thumped - and really, hobbling would be a bad description for the action of a man who filled half of Azkaban - over to the table. The headmaster added another chair with a casual swish of his wand.

The situation seemed surreal to the last Potter.

"No, it wasn't," the professor answered, and his functional eye narrowed as he looked toward the headmaster. "Who's Wormtail anyway?"

"Peter Pettigrew."

It was a sign of immense trust that Moody didn't ask any further questions and took the explanation as the truth. That he would ask about it on a later date was a given, but Harry had to wonder what kind of bond existed between those two men.

"Black was innocent, huh. Doesn't matter now. Potter, you fought Crouch Jr. polyjuiced as yours truly."

The sentence ended with a snarl that looked truly frightening on the man's face. It was understandable tough, as a man with such a reputation was entitled to be sore about being impersonated.

"Bastard surprised me and locked me in my own trunk. _My. Own. Trunk_! Next time I see him, the blighter is dead... By the way, Albus. Alcoholic? Really?"

Dumbledore looked annoyed and shot an accusing glare in Harry's direction. "No, I'm not. I just enjoy some from time to time. That's not relevant right now, anyway."

"Then," and Moody scratched his chin while Harry sat still in his chair. ", tell us what _is_ relevant."

"_Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son. _

_Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master. _

_Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe._"

Harry didn't understand what exactly the words meant, but he could make an educated guess as to their use if he combined them with the experience he had gained after facing Voldemort in his first and second year, and with the dreams that had plagued him throughout the fourth. Resurrection, immortality, to live again, all of those were things that Voldemort either wanted to, or maybe even had already achieved.

"It is a rather obscure ritual, but once Harry told me about his dreams of it, Tom's plan to regain his body and, of course, the evidence of Harry's forcibly taken blood... I have no doubt that as of today, Tom Riddle is once again truly alive."

"That does leave the question tough, how he managed to tether his soul to this plane. Necromantic rituals are as old as time, but without a soul a body can't function out of its own mind."

Harry wondered if the nearly unnoticeable flinch of the headmaster was just an illusion.

"That is a question for a later time. Right now we have to make plans regarding his renewed presence," Dumbledore said.

"Wait a second, I want to know something. What was up with the red dome?"

"Wards of a rather complex nature. Crouch Jr. alone wouldn't have been able to install them, or even craft them. Tom, however, is - and I don't like to say it- a genius concerning wards. It's not unthinkable that he crafted them in advance and gave Jr. explicit details on how to install them."

"So, what now? We got the facts: Voldemort is alive, and his henchmen probably know it. What do we do?" Moody asked.

"Do we tell Fudge?"

Dumbledore sighed, and looked at Fawkes. "No, I don't think we should do that. Cornelius wouldn't accept it anyway. If we want to combat this, we can't have our credibility ruined by the smear campaign that would surely follow."

"But-"

"Albus is right, Potter. And it's dangerous to be right, when the government is wrong," he turned to the headmaster. "What about the dignitaries you told me about? They know something is up."

"I'll send missives to them, asking to keep it under wraps for the time being. The only person from our ministry was Amelia, and I'm sure I can talk her into keeping silent."

"Will the Order be reformed?"

"The Order?" asked Harry.

The disfigured professor looked at Harry. "The Order of the Phoenix. It was a group lead by Albus during Voldemort's first rise."

"Huh, didn't know that."

"Of course you didn't. To remain unnoticed by the government was the whole point."

"It will reconvene, but the first few weeks you'll have to work without me. Harry and I have different plans for the summer..."

"We do?"

"Yes, but more of that later. Alastor, you, Sirius and Remus need to inform the old crowd. Get them together in the Black's ancestral home. I trust that Molly will make it liveable to the best of her abilities. We need more information so Severus will take up his old occupation."

Moody nodded and rose from his chair, thumping toward the door. "Well, if that's all then I'll make sure to get them together. Albus, Potter."

"Goodbye, Professor," Harry said, and was surprised to the see the man turn around again.

"Professor? I ain't teach people who can't catch their prey." he cracked a grin, and then he was gone, the door closing behind him with a soft sound.

As soon as Dumbledore and Harry were alone again, the grandfather clock on the wall still ticking away in a steady rhythm, a strange silence settled over them. It wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't comfortable either and the strange look in the headmaster's eyes told Harry enough to know that the conversation wasn't over just yet.

The events that had transpired over the last hours were dangerous, they had risked his life and, most of all, they were very worrying, but still... something about the unusual, regal posture of the older man, who now looked bereft of all of his unflappability, made Harry frown. No, the evening was far from over and whatever had the ability to rise the headmaster's concern like that would be revealed soon, he was sure of it.

"Harry," Dumbledore started, but furrowed his brows and shook his head briefly as if to get rid of an annoying fly. "I should have told you sooner..." the last bit sounded more like an afterthought, like something the headmaster hadn't intended for him to hear.

It was a rare occurrence to see the headmaster unsure of what to say, to see him grasping for words and finding none, but what was even worse was that Dumbledore had abandoned his forced, stiff posture and had succumbed to the wear of the evening, slumping back into his chair with dim eyes.

"Pride..." the word was whispered, barely distinguishable from a wheezing breath.

"Pride?" he didn't manage to hold his curiosity any longer. He wanted to – no - he needed to know what was able to bother the man like this. What pride had to do with it was anybody's guess though.

"Pride blinded me." The headmaster suddenly looked furious and his fist crash onto the desk. He didn't notice the silver trinkets that had jumped a bit, some even flying off the table. "I was so sure! So sure that it wasn't needed, that you weren't needed..." he trailed off again.

Harry didn't understand a thing, wasn't able to make any connections. Wasn't needed for what?

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... _

_born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..._

_and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... _

_and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... _

_the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..._"

The words sounded alien, but as strange as they were, Harry knew exactly what they meant, or rather who they meant.

"Wha-"

"A prophecy. About you to be precise. God, I wish I had never met that accursed woman..."

Harry was confused. "Who?" he asked.

"_Sybill Trewlaney..._"

"Trew- Excuse me, professor Trewlaney actually made a real prophecy?"

The pure thought of that old bat having a real vision, a prophecy about him of all people, made his stomach churn. But that wasn't the issue here...

"But why wait? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

The headmaster slumped down even further. "As I said, pride. I thought myself to be a great enough wizard to circumvent the prophecy. Alas, I forgot the main principles of divination. The more you fight against the fates, the earlier their words will come true. Possibly with more force than ever anticipated."

"The prophecy seems rather clear to me, professor. How would you try to circumvent something like that?"

"You are destined to fight Tom, that much is true. My thoughts, however, went along the lines that for a fight to happen, two people are needed. For years I believed myself able to confine Tom should he make an appearance... but since you joined Hogwarts, and with each new attempt on your life my hopes dwindled.

In the end, the only thing that kept me from telling you was my pride. My pride that as a wizard I was more than able to cope with Tom's tries at necromancy."

Dumbledore bowed his head. A man who had held the wizarding world in awe with his achievements for nearly a century didn't dare to look him in the eyes. "My pride has moved you into an unacceptable position. A position where every step, every minute is clouded by the anxiety that the next could be your last. It is the greatest mistake in a long row of many that I made, and for that I apologize. Even though you might not find it in yourself to forgive me, but I apologize."

The headmaster still hadn't looked up, and it started to physically hurt Harry to see the man like this.

"I will do everything in my power to help you... to prepare you for the battles to come. By the name of Dumbledore I promise, I _will_ even the odds for you."

Harry couldn't take it anymore. Not like this, _never_ like this. In one swift stride he stood beside the headmaster who still faced the polished top of his desk, and laid his hand on the man's shoulder. "Well then, professor, what do we do?"

Dumbledore looked up, a bit of light entering his dim blue eyes, and a grateful smile tugged at his lips. A smile that quickly reformed into a smirk.

"We are going to show Tom that messing with a sleeping dragon is very perilous."

* * *

**Hogwarts 25. June 1995**

"Harry, are you ready?"

"I wish I wasn't..." he took a long look at the headmaster's office, once again letting his eyes wander over the many artifacts that had caught his eyes over the year. The Flame of Ankou, Godsögnsvanir, the World tapestry...

"Is there really no time to say good bye?"

"Unfortunately not. Tom's resurrection leaves us hard pressed for time to find allies, and if we want to convince some of my old acquaintances we have to go now."

"It's just..."

"Do not fret, Harry. I asked Professor McGonagall to inform Lady Delacour of your early departure with me. I'm sure she will understand the necessity and won't bear you any ill will when you meet again."

Harry looked up to his mentor and saw the amused glint in his eyes. "When we meet again?"

"Now that you remind me... I haven't really told you where we are going, have I? Not to worry then, we have five minutes until the Portkey takes us away. Plenty of time to show you a rough outline of our future travels."

Dumbledore's robe whirled behind him as he walked over to the tapestry. "Our first destination will be Turkey, more specifically the bazaar of Izmir – as dangerous as it is wonderful in all its magical glory. We will then move to Egypt, Japan, China, Brazil, Guyana, further to the USA, Greece, Estonia, Italy and, finally, to France."

Harry's left eye twitched as he tried to find words but wasn't able to. Eleven countries in two months? Once again he was left speechless in the presence of the barmy old codger that called himself headmaster.

"..."

Dumbledore grabbed the Portkey from his desk and seconds later Harry felt the weight of the man's hand settle on his shoulder.

"Well then, Harry. Let us start this ambitious adventure – to bath in eternal fire, bargain with devils, and dance with death."

These words didn't necessarily inspire confidence in the Heir to House Potter, but nonetheless a crooked grin appeared on his face. Both, the wise old man and his young apprentice vanished into a stream of colors, not to be seen in Hogwarts for the next sixty days.

* * *

**AN**: The year is finished, so what did our hero learn? As he stumbled from one life-threatening situation into another, staring death directly into its cold eyes, I think he mostly learned to work under duress. Creativity and Imagination were always strong points of HP, but after constantly dancing with the reaper himself, they were pushed to another level. Of course, the additional magical knowledge plus the imparted wisdom of his mentor weren't unhelpful either.


	13. Chapter 12

Wow, now that's what I call a quick update :P Rejoice, the 2nd Arc of Magicks of the Arcane begins now! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and I hope you will enjoy it.

* * *

**Magicks of the Arcane**

Chapter XII

* * *

**Turkey / Unknown Location - 25. June 1995**

The stream of colors stretched itself further and further as Harry traversed the distance between England and Turkey in a manner of seconds. His body was unaccustomed to intercontinental travel and his eyes were wide open in wonderment. It was a strange sensation, like small pinpricks stabbing, but not really hurting him. The colors vanished into nothingness, the stabbing stopped, and with the experience of many decades the headmaster landed gracefully on the ground, steadying Harry all the while.

"Interesting way to travel," Harry said and turned to Dumbledore who was in the process of smoothing his robes. His eyes didn't linger though, as he was suddenly captivated by the place they had portkeyed to. It was like a dream, and the only time he had ever felt like this was when he first set foot into Diagon Alley.

Tents of various colors were set up in an orderly array, stands offering goods ranging from mundane fruits to rare herbs, blacksmiths plying their trade, fortuneteller offering their services, the list seemed endless. If there was one word to describe the spectacle that unfolded before him, it would be _busy_. Extremely busy to be precise.

Hundreds of people walking through the market, either buying or selling, small animals weaving through the crowd... he watched with fascination how a small monkey took a middle aged man by surprise, climbing up on his robes like they were a ladder, until it jumped off of the man's shoulder and landed gracefully on the roof of a building.

The clothes ranged from colorful robes like the ones the headmaster wore to plain white togas, sometimes a turban like the one Quirrel had worn adorned the head of a person, and sometimes an intricate netting of gold and silver made the women appear even more beautiful than they were before.

It was simply magical.

"Welcome, Harry, to the Bazaar of Izmir."

"It's beautiful..."

"That it is, that and more," Dumbledore said and started to gently steer Harry through the throngs of people. "Don't be fooled though. As always, what is beautiful on the outside can be quite ugly within."

He didn't want to believe that such a wonderful place could have bad sides, but gritty realism forced its way into his thought process. Well, the bazaar was awe inspiring nonetheless. They walked through the isles for a while, and more often than not the headmaster had to save Harry from spending all his Galleons on things he would probably never need.

"How come we didn't have to register with the Turkish Ministry? I thought you had to be screened and everything after coming to another country," Harry asked.

Dumbledore hummed in response and his brows crinkled in amusement. "There are certain perks involved with being a member of the International Confederation and, shedding all my modesty for a moment, not many are powerful enough to create such a Portkey on their own."

A suspicious thought entered Harry's mind though, and like the proper Gryffindor he was, he wasted no time to question the headmaster. "Sir, are we illegally here?"

"You are, my boy. I, however, am not," answered Dumbledore and Harry's left eye started to twitch. "Don't worry though. Legality, like so many other things in this world, lies in the eye of the beholder. And while we're speaking about eyes, do try to keep yours under control. You're awfully young to develop ticks like that."

Harry could not decide whether he was angry, frustrated, or amused by the headmaster's answer. He followed the man through the crowd and his head swiveled from one side to another as he tried to take in everything at once. To his left, an assortment of daggers and knives were laid out orderly on a red satin sheet, and the man behind the table had an inviting smile on his face. He took a step toward the stand, but felt himself steered away from it by the headmaster, who quirked an eyebrow.

"Those daggers looked nice," Harry mumbled, wondering if he sounded like a petulant child.

"They were cursed, rather nastily at that. I doubt your interest would have held long after the aging curse had hit you."

"Cursed? But the man looked honest..."

Dumbledore smiled and gestured for Harry to look at the man again, now that they were some feet away. His eyes nearly fell out of his skull when he saw that the once peaceful looking man resembled a crook in every shape and form. The inviting smile he had noticed before was transformed into a malicious grin that promised pain to those that bought his daggers. Eyes filled with dark amusement as he looked through the masses, scouting for potential targets.

"How- What-"

"Remember what I told you in my office? This place is as dangerous as it is beautiful. Entrancing in its magic, but completely bereft of trust. Promise me, Harry, that as long as we're here you will trust no one."

"Yes, Sir. Why did he look so different though?"

"You studied a lot last year, did you not? Why don't you try to come up with a theory and I'll tell you if it is right or wrong."

He walked beside the headmaster and thought about the problem. It wasn't easy and while he was sure that the older man would not pressure him, the hustling and bustling around him become louder and made it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the matter.

Dumbledore seemed to notice his struggle and uttered a chuckle. "It might be easier if you talk about your thoughts, Harry. Use me as a, how do the Muggles call it, a 'bouncing board' if you will."

"I guess a proximity ward was used. It would definitely explain the changes I've seen in the man. So the base of the whole scheme is definitely a _Certior Fieri_," he said and was relieved to see Dumbledore nod. "_Certior Fieri_ is a longtime ward though, so he'd have to have anchored it somewhere... Are the places permanently assigned?"

"It depends. Most of them, at least those with a loyal clientele are, but some change their locations daily. The owner of those daggers probably belongs to the latter category."

"So he couldn't have anchored the ward in the place itself. Maybe onto the satin sheet? Now that I think about it, I'm sure that their was an compulsion ward too. It nearly felt natural to inquire about his wares after I took a look at the sheet."

Dumbledore nodded again and his pleased look didn't escape Harry either. "Right you are, Harry. What about his pleasant look?"

"I'd say it was something along the lines of an illusion ward, but those are incredibly hard to do. How would a thug like that even now how to create one?"

"You should never underestimate someone. Everyone could have a hidden talent, everything they show you could be a plot to alter your perception of them. Never take anything for granted and always strive to find the answers for yourself," Dumbledore said and patted Harry on the shoulder, pleased to have found such an attentive listener. "Anyway, I'd give you two out of three points for your deductions."

After seeing Harry's frown he elaborated. "The man did indeed use a _Certior Fieri_ as the base for his ward scheme and he also keyed a compulsion ward into it, those were your two points by the way, but he didn't use an illusion ward. So, what else could it be?"

As they strolled side by side, Harry tried to puzzle out the last piece of the mystery and although his efforts were futile, he had fun doing so. Dumbledore wasn't an impatient man and it showed as he walked silently next to his unofficial apprentice, observing him as he tried to find the truth.

"It was an illusion, I'm sure about it. How could it be anything else if the changes were so drastic? Did he use a regular charm? No, that can't be it either. He changed back after we were a certain distance away, so the phenomenon has to be keyed into the ward somehow."

Harry had forgotten completely about the outside world and started to mutter intelligible words, until, with a sharp movement, his head snapped up and he looked directly at the headmaster. "Professor, can a compulsion ward be modified?"

Dumbledore's smile widened. "It can indeed, my boy, but you're still half a point away from having completely solved the mystery."

"It has something to do with the compulsion ward, but he couldn't have modified the existing one because it was needed to even attract someone to his stand. Maybe... a second one? A second, modified compulsion ward that was keyed into the first one and the _Certior Fieri_."

"And there you go, Harry. Three out of three points, well done. To be precise, the modified ward compelled you to see him as someone you would subconsciously approve of. A trickery bit of magic to be sure and I'm rather surprised to have seen it here. Alas, as I said before, nothing is certain in this world."

It took another half an hour until the amount of stands lessened and they arrived at the border of the bazaar. From there on out, they walked through narrow alleys and Harry was fascinated by the many small houses made of stone. Or was it clay? He wasn't sure and in his ignorance of proper architectural knowledge decided that they were build in an Oriental style. Another alley, around another corner, and the farther they walked into the residential area of magical Izmir, the seedier it became. The richly ornamented houses from before made place for small huts, stone gave way to wood and straw, well cared for gardens were replaced by piles of litter.

A group of kids sparsely clothed in rags ran by them, hunting a snitch. He smiled at the scene out of remembrance of his earlier days at Hogwarts. His eyes were accustomed to the quick and sharp movements of the golden ball and he noticed that it was caked with mud and dirt. The smile died on his lips. Those rage were worse than what he got from the Dursleys, and it left a foul taste in his mouth.

"We're nearly there, Harry," Dumbledore said and snapped him out of his reverie. "Just an alley further and we'll meet with an old friend of mine. A piece of advice, don't be intimidated by his gruff behavior."

When they arrived at the place, Harry saw that the house didn't look like the rest of its neighbors. It wasn't the residence of a rich person, for sure, but neither did it look like it belonged to someone living in complete poverty. The largest difference compared to the adjacent huts were probably the building materials, as it was completely made of stone.

Two buildings to the left, Harry saw a pair of curious eyes peeking through the straw blinds. He heard some muffled words and the eyes vanished.

"Do they fear us?" Harry asked Dumbledore, who had pulled his wand out of his robes and wove it through the air.

"Fear isn't exclusive to Voldemort related things, Harry. We are two new individuals standing in one of the worst parts of Izmir, so, naturally, they are wary of us. Indeed, I doubt that they have even heard of Tom or his followers."

The headmaster continued to move his wand through the air and slowly, but surely, a colorful net of magic materialized in front of them – a net that encompassed the whole house. Harry observed the net, but couldn't make heads or tail of it.

"What is this?"

"That, dear boy, is the visual ward complex protecting the house. Give me a second," Dumbledore said, and Harry felt how the man pushed a bit of magic through his wand and into the scheme. It met one of the colorful strands of magic in the ward and for a moment he feared that the headmaster had activated some unpleasant defensive mechanisms. Instead, the loud sound of a gong echoed through the alley.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"What..."

"I simply knocked on the door to let him know that we're here," Dumbledore said with an air of nonchalance that made Harry snort.

"Couldn't we have walked to the actual door and knocked on it?"

"Maybe, but were is the fun in that? Besides, look around. It's becoming dark and business hours are over. I wouldn't be shocked if the actual door resembles a death trap right now."

Somehow, Harry could understand that when he considered the kind of place they were in. For a few seconds nothing happened, but then the warding net morphed, leaving a man sized hole in it.

"Ah, there it is. Come on now, Harry. I'm not sure how long he will leave the door open like that," Dumbledore said and with swift strides both of them stepped through the hole.

* * *

Harry had no time to observe the interior, because as soon as they set foot into the house, a gruff voice spoke in broken English to them.

"Albus, why here?"

The voice belonged to a man who Harry estimated to be about fifty years old. Then again, the man was obviously a wizard, so his perception could be heavily screwed. He wore a brown leather coat, smeared with slime, filth and blood, and Harry nearly puked as the poignant smell of the man reached him. It wasn't a rotten smell, or a smell one could get after neglecting washing for a few weeks, but rather something extremely sharp and spicy that offended his nose in manners he hadn't thought possible.

Dumbledore greeted the man with a hearty smile and shook his hand eagerly, exchanging a few words in Turkish. Harry had no idea what they were talking about, but he saw the intelligence in the man's brown eyes and immediately knew that he wasn't a person to cross. It was the same feeling he had gotten when he first laid eyes on Professor McGonagall.

A few more words were exchanged and Harry took the time to look around the room. Crates were stapled in one corner, a counter with a few scales was seemingly used as a place to sell something, and as his eyes wandered further and further along the room, he slowly got the picture about the man's trade. Shelves upon shelves were stocked with potions, some labeled, some not, but all seemed to be precisely arranged.

"Come, come!"

Harry's eyes snapped up to the man and he waved them through the room into another one, which looked like a sitting room. Correction, a sitting room that was also used to work in. Colorful and comfortable looking cushions were arranged around a small table, barely a few inches high. He noticed cauldrons of various sizes and material lining the wall as he followed the headmaster and seated himself on one of the cushions, directly across the potioneer.

More words were spoken in a language Harry didn't even know how to say 'hello' in, but after a few seconds Dumbledore turned to him and muttered a few Latin words, accompanied by some waves of his hand and a sudden uncomfortable feeling that vanished as soon as it had come.

"You will understand us now, Harry. Obviously you won't be able to speak Turkish, but it is better than nothing. Otherwise we'd all be masters of every language," Dumbledore said with the infernal twinkle in his eyes and turned back.

"This is Emin Acar, master of potions and exotic brews. I met him nearly two decades ago and we had many enlightening discussions about the subtle art since then."

For the first time since they had entered the house, Harry felt Emin's eyes on him – assessing, evaluating, judging. They shook hands, but as soon as the grip had lessened and Harry wanted to introduce himself, Emin turned to Dumbledore. "He's not good in potions, is he? His hands feel like he never chopped ingredients in his life."

"I'm-"

"I don't care," Emin interrupted him and looked expectantly to the headmaster.

Harry didn't know whether to frown or to pout, and thought that Dumbledore did a rather poor job to smother his chuckles. "It isn't one of his strengths, but he has other areas he excels in. He is, for example, rather adept in Transfiguration and Battle Magicks."

The potioneer frowned and took another look at Harry. "Battle Magicks you say?"

"Ancient ones at that," Dumbledore added.

"What's your name, lad?"

Harry was peeved now. Hadn't he already tried to introduce himself? "I'm Harry Potter, pleased to meet you."

Emin's head swerved right back to Dumbledore and he gave the headmaster a long, searching look. "I believe the favor to be about tutoring someone in my craft, but clearly I was mistaken. Is your dark lord back?"

"Very perceptive of you, as usual. You are right, and as of yesterday, Tom Riddle lives again."

"So why are you here? I can see where no knowledge in my art might be a danger for your apprentice, but wouldn't it be more beneficial for him to further his training in Battle Magicks?"

"I think you misunderstood my intentions, Emin. I'm not here for you to tutor Harry. I'm here to ask you if you want to teach potions at Hogwarts for a year," explained Dumbledore.

Harry was flabbergasted and confused. "What about Snape?"

When he saw Dumbledore's raised brows, he quickly corrected himself. "Professor Snape, I mean."

"Severus will have other duties to attend to in the following year, and somehow I don't think you are that averse to a change in your potion teacher."

Emin sat still and watched them stoically. "You want me to abandon my shop for a year, Albus?"

"Indeed I do," answered Dumbledore with twinkling eyes. "I believe your son became a master not too long ago and would thrive under the new found experience of managing a shop."

Emin's lips twitched, but it was so minuscule that Harry might have imagined it. "We'll see. Let's go to sleep now, and we will discuss this further tomorrow."

All three of them rose from their cushions and the potioneer led them to a small room with cots made of straw.

"It isn't much, but you knew what you signed up for, Albus."

"That I did. Do you mind if I transfigure them into beds?"

"Do as you please. We'll talk tomorrow," Emin said and closed the door behind him, leaving Harry and Dumbledore alone in the room.

The headmaster ignited a torch to his left with a wave of his hand, and turned back to Harry. "I'm sure you know how to transfigure the cots into beds, but give me the honor for tonight."

Harry nodded and watched fascinated how Dumbledore silently transformed the cots into comfortable, but not gaudy beds, completely ignoring all the steps Harry had taken when he had made the bed in his room at Hogwarts. He eagerly slipped out of his robes, deposited them on a stool nearby and slipped under the covers, surprised by the comfortable feeling. In the meanwhile, Dumbledore had transfigured his clothes into a blue sleeping robe with rainbows.

"Mr. Acar seemed pretty unconcerned with Voldemort's resurrection, Professor. Isn't he afraid of him?"

Dumbledore shook his head slightly and regarded Harry with a gentle expression. "You're naivety in such matters is often refreshing, Harry, but in this case unfortunately misplaced. Tom isn't the only dark lord, nor will he ever be. Voldemort and his merry band of sheep are a problem on the isles, an inconvenience in the adjacent countries at best, and uninteresting for the rest of the world."

And just like that, the headmaster had shattered Harry's perception of the world to pieces. "So we can't expect any help from other countries as long as he confines himself to the isles?"

"In regard to the ministries at least. That's why you and me are currently in the process of traveling around the world. No one forbids old friends to help us in our hour of need. Now sleep, my boy, You'll have a long and tiring day tomorrow."

Another wave of his hand and Dumbledore extinguished the fire, bathing the room in darkness.

* * *

**Turkey - 26. June 1995**

Ice cold water crashed onto Harry's head, brutally waking him from the pleasant and more than slightly perverted dream he had. He jumped out of the bed, wand tightly gripped in his hand, and tried to locate his assailant through the wet locks of hair that clung to his head.

Booming laughter met him.

"Up with you, Harry Potter. There's much work to do!" Emin stood in front of him, cackling in delight.

Harry slipped into his robes, but his question as to where the bathroom might be, was answered with another bout of laughter and a rather familiar answer.

"Are you a wizard, or not?"

"I'm underage. Not allowed to cast spells outside of school," he answered and immediately regretted it. Mr. Acar looked at him as if he was stupid.

"What do they teach you in this school? You're in Turkey now, and we have completely different laws here," Emin said and shook his head in annoyance. "Cast some cleaning and refreshing charms and join me in the sitting room."

Harry cursed as soon as the man had left the room. Cleaning charms? Refreshing charms? He never had the time to learn those and household charms. The only one he knew was the _Scourgify_, and he seriously doubted its application on human beings. Unfortunately, he had no other option.

"_Scourgify_," he whispered with a healthy amount of reluctance as he pointed the wand at himself.

It hurt, badly at that, and he had to bite his lips to prevent himself from screaming. His whole body trembled and felt like it had been scrubbed raw. It took minutes until he was able to move again, and with shaky legs he made his way to the sitting room, where Emin sat at the table and scribbled on parchment.

"I'm here," Harry grounded out and was immediately scrutinized by Emin's sharp eyes.

The man sighed. "Some English wizards truly are stupid, eh? I'll give you a book on cleaning charms to read in the evening."

Harry suppressed the curses he wanted to utter and seated himself next to the man. "Where's the headmaster?"

"He's out for the day, doing Merlin knows what. You'll help me around the shop and in return I'm going to teach you a few tricks that might come in handy if you ever have to brew a potion."

And so the day went by. Emin had Harry working like a man possessed, crates were stapled, goods were sold, potions were brewed and ingredients were prepared. For every chop Harry made with his potion knife, Mr. Acar knew a way to criticize it, and as the sky started to darken and the headmaster had finally come back, Harry had learned more about potions than he had with Snape in four years of schooling. He didn't brew anything overly interesting, just boil cures and the likes, but still... it was something that shouldn't have happened, had Snape even an ounce of teaching ability in his body.

To tired to even ask Dumbledore where he had been, Harry crawled into his bed and immediately fell asleep, barely noticing that the headmaster was still in the adjourning room and discussed matters with the potioneer.

* * *

**Turkey - 28. June 1995**

It was the evening of their last day in Turkey, according to Dumbledore, and for the first time since their arrival, Emin and the headmaster allowed Harry to explore the area and have some fun. With quick strides he walked through the sitting room, intent on using this time as much as possible, when Dumbledore's voice stopped him.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"How much money do you intend to take with you?"

Harry opened his robes and gave the small leather bag on his belt a push that made the money inside jingle. "About thirty Galleons, why?"

"I advise you not to take that much. Five to seven Galleons should be plenty enough to have a fun night out," Dumbledore said and obediently Harry emptied his pouch until only seven Galleons remained.

The headmaster pressed an object into Harry's hand. It was an empty vial. "There, that's a Portkey that should bring you here if you encounter any problems. If anything happens, just say 'Emin's Lab' and you'll be back here in this room."

He nodded to the two men and then continued his march out of the house and into the magical districts of Izmir. He would have fun tonight, he just knew it.

* * *

Another glass of Raki landed in front of him. He picked it up, toasted to the few men around him and swallowed the alcohol without a care in the world. This was exactly how he had envisioned traveling would be... for hours he had explored the districts, wandered through the bazaar and finally walked into a bar and started to drink.

People came and went, stories were exchanged and he listened with interest to the various experiences many of the customers had to share. The clientèle was somewhat shady, but he didn't care and greatly enjoyed the evening as he smoked his trusted pipe. Miles to the east, in the mountains near Afyon, a young basilisk had been found and it apparently took nearly three squads of Turkish Aurors to clean out its nest and kill the beast. To the north, in the Sea of Marmara, locale wizards and witches have bonded together and helped the Merpeople against a sudden population boom of Grindylows.

"Have you ever fought Grindylows?" The bearded man to his right asked him. Harry exhaled a plume of smoke and looked into the expectant faces around him.

"Yes, I have. Stay clear of their horns and you're good to go," he answered and shook the small beaker with dices.

It took a while for those around him to decipher the meaning of his words, but once they did, they nodded. That was the disadvantage of the translation spell. One could perfectly understand the language, but it didn't enable a person to speak it fluently, or better said, to speak it at all. So he conversed in English, and while many people knew a fair bit about it, some words still eluded them. It made conversations more tedious, but also a lot of fun.

"I'm planning to visit my nephew who lives near the Sea of Marmara. Any advice to give, oh knowledgeable one?" asked a man with a long black beard to his left.

"They're quick and agile little buggers, so don't bother with pin-point spells. Use transfiguration and wide spread charms," Harry said and finally smashed the beaker on the table. The people leaned forward, trying to see what number of eyes the two dices would show.

"Two sixes, take that!"

Harry grinned and cashed in on the few sickles that were lying in the middle of the table. Another revelation for him; wizarding money was the same everywhere. The man to his right had explained it earlier in the night, said that it had something to do with a few laws the IWC had passed centuries ago. It made sense, and Harry was glad that the currency was one problem less he had to deal with.

"Lucky bastard," shouted one of the newcomers at the table. "Damn son of a mudblood whore..."

The last sentence was muttered nearly silently, but Harry heard it nonetheless and so did the others at the table. His expression became stormy and his eyes hardened to icy chips. Bigotry seemed to be the same in other countries too, and although the man probably hadn't known it, his comment had hit close to home. He absolutely hated it when someone insulted his parents, was always furious if someone dared to besmirch their names. Unfortunately, there were too many witnesses for even the smallest of retributions, and he did the only thing he could do.

Harry rose from his cushion and secured the won sickles in the pouch on his belt, before turning around to face his former company of the evening. "I'm going now. Have a nice night."

A last furious look was reserved for the bastard that had insulted his mother and then he was gone. Hopefully he had been a good enough company that the others at the table would be angry with the asshole.

He wandered aimlessly through the dark streets that were sparsely illuminated by torches and oil lamps, until after minutes of silence the sound of music reached his ears. Harry quickened his pace, walked around corners and was satisfied to hear that the music became louder and louder. It took another two minutes until he arrived at the source and his eyes widened.

People mingled around, laughing, cheering and observing. A few artists swished their wands and conjured fire that formed itself into great pictures and symbols. Generally the atmosphere was incredibly light and he couldn't help the grin that split his face in two. He let his eyes wander over the crowd, taking in everything he could, and then he saw her...

Beauty personified.

A woman, perhaps in her early twenties, walked through the masses and onto a small stage. Her dress was neither too conservative, nor too skimpy, but certainly revealing. Small beads jingled around her bare ankles with each step she took, and everyone who heard the sound moved back a few steps to make place for the incredibly beautiful woman. The music that had stopped shortly began anew. It was faster than before, and he barely noticed a few of the men who hammered their palms against small drums in a vicious rhythm. Then it began, and Harry...

Harry was completely hypnotized.

She twirled and moved her body in ways he had never seen before. Ways that could be seen as incredibly innocent, or as scandalously erotic. He couldn't suppress, nor did he care for his growing erection as he watched tresses of raven black hair conceal her face. Each move accentuated her perfect body, pointed his gaze directly to her beautiful curves.

* * *

It was hours later, the sun already started to rise, when Harry portkeyed back to Emin's house. Surprisingly, Dumbledore and Mr. Acar still sat around the small table and discussed something. Both looked up as he entered the sitting room and the headmaster looked more amused than angry with his late arrival.

"Welcome back, Harry. I hope you had some fun."

"I definitely had, Sir. Even won some money from a few of the locals," Harry answered and resisted the urge to stick his tongue out.

"Oh? How much did you win, if you don't mind me asking?"

"A few sickles," he said and his hand went to his belt only to find his money pouch missing. "... I must have lost it, or someone stole my money!"

Dumbledore looked at him with quirked brows and Harry tried to deduct when he had lost his pouch. "Ghar, it must have been when I watched this beautiful woman dancing," he grumbled in frustration. "I should have known that she was too beautiful to be true."

Emin buried his head in his hands, muttering something about stupid English wizards, and Dumbledore made no effort to stifle his laughter. Soon, Harry joined them and grinned sheepish all the while, until the headmaster finally gained some semblance of self control.

"You know, Harry, you reminded me of an interesting saying I heard a few years ago in the muggle world. I think it's tailored perfectly to your situation," the older man said.

"Oh, is that so?"

"Indeed it is, and it goes like this: '_Beware the pull on your heartstrings – it's often the pursestrings that are being reached for_'. I believe it describes your situation perfectly, does it not?"

Harry really wanted to throw a tantrum, when he saw Emin breaking out in renewed laughter.

"Well, at least you made someone happy tonight. Five Galleons, or even more, is a lot of money here in Izmir. If it was a poor chap that robbed you, he might have enough to buy a wand. That's something a lot of the people here are missing."

"Anyway, your sudden arrival was very fortunate for you," Dumbledore said and look at an old boot that stood on the table. "Our Portkey to Egypt activates in about fifteen minutes."

Harry nodded happily until something clicked in his mind and his left eye started to twitch uncontrollably. "Professor?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"What would have happened had I not arrived just now?"

"Well, you are an intelligent lad. I believe you would have found me someday."

The twitch intensified and Emin was in hysterics, pounding his fists on the table.

Dumbledore turned away from Harry and regarded the potioneer with an amused look. "Emin, I believe everything is discussed for now?"

"Of course, Albus. I'll instruct my son and will come to Hogwarts on the September the first."

"Good, good. I thank you for your hospitality. Come now, Harry, or you'll be left behind."

Still twitching, Harry walked over to Dumbledore and touched the boot. Only a few seconds later they were sucked into a stream of colors and he really wondered whether the old man had lost his marbles over the last century.

* * *

**AN**: Well, that's it. I don't know whether the words "splitting a face in half" are usable for the description of a grin, but I used them anyway. If it's a wrong expression, please tell me and I'll correct it. Man, I had so much fun writing Dumbledore in this chapter it's unbelievable! Really had to stop myself before it started to become a 'Bash Harry' festival... Huehuehue, at least he learned some new things. (Household charms (*snigger*), brewing tips, gambling, and to never be so entranced by a woman that you loose complete sight of your surroundings :P

Happy eastern, by the way! Wish you all the best.


	14. Chapter 13

Well, here's the next chapter of MoA. Enjoy, r&r, and if you have questions just pm me as usual.

* * *

**Magicks of the Arcane**

Chapter XIII

* * *

**Egypt – 29. June 1995**

The sensation of using a portkey was always the same, probably, nonetheless for someone who had only done it once or twice it wasn't pleasant. It prickled, and while it did not really hurt it was uncomfortable to say the least. The disorientation, the dizziness after seeing too much colors fly by, meshing together and becoming something new, intangible... was it possible to be awed by beauty, yet not pleased to have seen it? For Harry James Potter it was possible, definitely, and he thanked Merlin that as his feet met the sandy ground the hand of his mentor came to rest on his shoulder and steadied him. The travel had been shorter than before, quite possibly due to the distance involved, Harry mused and while he was not overly fond of their method of transportation it did have its uses.

Definitely a piece of magic he intended to learn in the future. Magical power was, of course, an obstacle he had to overcome, but if there was one of the three pillars that defined a wizard's might that he had in spades it was raw power. He wasn't bad in the creativity part either, but knowledge – and the experience to use that knowledge – well, he was sorely lacking in that department. It was a problem he had hoped to tackle in his fifth year, away from deadly distractions like the tournament, away from the need to learn certain magicks just to survive. Voldemort's return threw a wrench in his plan however and now, while still learning things that interested him, he was once again forced to study for the sake of his survival.

Harry sighed and his eyes wandered to the man standing next to him. _At least Dumbledore would make it fun_, he thought.

He wondered what their destination was. The headmaster hadn't told him of any friends of his that they would visit, but he was quite sure that there had to be a reason for their arrival in the land of the pharaohs. As insane as Dumbledore sometimes appeared, he never did anything without a reason and Harry knew that behind the mask of a barmy old man, there was a mind sharper than most. He trusted the headmaster, he liked him, really, but there was no doubt that he was a man not to be crossed – at any cost.

His eyes left the headmaster and he took a look around. Houses, not unlike those he saw in Izmir, lined the street and while they bore a striking similarity, they seemed to be more gaudy. Richly decorated and not hinting toward any kind of poverty, they were the sort of residences he would attribute to rather wealthy people. In Izmir the clothing had come in various colors – shades of red mixed with green, black and brown often interwoven in white – here however, the people had a clear preference for white, and _only_ white colors. Another peculiarity that didn't escape his notice where the trims. Black, red, blue, and green were the colors he saw. Only one for each robe, but one for all of them and the only exception seemed to be tourists like Dumbledore and himself.

Now that he thought of it, Dumbledore and himself stood out like sore thumbs. Cobalt and the black of his school robe – without the crest – clashed heavily with the 'only white' in the street, so much in fact that people started to look at them strangely, no doubt wondering who they were.

"We are strangers here, Harry. It is no wonder that they try to discern our origin and purpose," the headmaster answered his unasked question. It was rather unnerving.

"You will find that Egypt his quite different from Turkey despite their obvious similarity at first. Laws for one are quite well enforced, especially in the grand district of Cairo, where we are by the way, so it might be prudent not to let anyone know how we arrived here."

"I already noticed some of the differences. What are the colored trims about?"

"Identification marks. I can't say I agree with the system, but Egypt still uses castes and has done so for thousands of years already. There's no need to be intimidated by anyone though. The only color you should be wary of his gold, because those who bear the golden trim belong to the ruling caste and can be offended quite easily if one isn't practiced in their customs – wars have been fought for less after all."

"Castes? That's a bit archaic," said Harry and was rewarded with an amused look.

"Archaic it might be, but who are we to judge traditions as old as these? No, if there is one way to anger someone, it is to insult their home – intentionally, or not."

"I never intended to insult them."

"I know that and you know that, but the other people here don't so it might be wise to be cautious," said Dumbledore and walked ahead.

"Egypt is, by the way, not divided into several magical districts. Rather there is one large settlement and hundreds of small outposts throughout the country. Many adventurer try to brave the unforgiving desert seeking riches or knowledge and the outposts can equip them with the necessary tools, for a fee of course"

"Sounds like they're run by goblins," said Harry and half-expected to run into Bill Weasley at any moment. It had been months since he last spoke with Ron, but at that time the eldest child of the Weasley Clan was still stationed in Egypt.

"They are owned by goblins, but mostly run by the humans they employ. There has been much blood spilled between wizards and goblins, and both tend to avoid each other outside of fiscal matters."

For nearly an hour they walked through the magical district of Cairo and although he probably should have panicked, Harry was quite amused by the fact that Dumbledore looked just as lost as he did. _Lost, but not unaware_, amended the last Potter in his mind. The blue eyes hidden behind half-moon spectacles were still as observing as ever and he was sure that no person they had passed in the last sixty minutes went unnoticed by the headmaster.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Harry asked when Dumbledore had come to a standstill for the second time in five minutes, taking a good look around.

"An information board. They hold various job offers and we might find something interesting on it," Dumbledore answered and continued to sweep the area with his eyes. "So far, they remain illusive though."

Albus Dumbledore was a great wizard, one of the greatest in fact, but sometimes Harry had to wonder about the man's common sense. He was tired, hadn't even slept the night before, and wanted nothing more than to find a cozy bed and fall asleep, so he did the one thing he knew would help him in that particular endeavor – he asked one of the locals.

Before the headmaster even had a chance to hold him back, Harry walked over to a man that bore a red trim and asked him about the next upcoming information board. The guy had been incredibly helpful and now, as both of them stood before the board that was filled to the brim with pieces of nailed parchment he joyfully thought about the surprised face his mentor had made when he walked directly toward the target of their hour long search.

"Good work," Dumbledore said as he searched through the many ads on the board. "Tell me, Harry, why did you chose the man with the red trim?"

Harry wondered about that. Was the question some kind of test, or was it the headmaster's natural curiosity? Why had he chosen the man amongst the dozens around him? Maybe Dumbledore was referring to his mistake in Izmir when he nearly bought cursed daggers...

"Let me rephrase that question: Do you know what the red trim stands for?"

"Not really," Harry answered.

"The red trim indicate the Aurors of Egypt, and maybe our adventure became just that more adventurous should you have roused their suspicions."

* * *

It took a few more hours until they boarded a room that would serve them for some days. Harry had been amazed by the older man's ability to haggle when Dumbledore nearly reduced the owner of the establishment to tears. He wouldn't quite call it a hotel, but it did provide them with an ordinary sized room, equipped with two beds, a desk and comfortable looking cushions – and all that for the prize of five Galleons the night.

"We have much to discuss, Harry. Make yourself comfortable," Dumbledore said, already having drawn his wand.

The first few charms that silently left the headmaster's wand he had managed to identify due to the precise wand movements, but as the time went on the movements became more complex and at some point Dumbledore had abandoned silent casting, chanting in different, but clearly old languages. Colorful jets of light splashed against the walls, leaving them unmarred, and Harry felt dozens of privacy charms settle in. _No, not only privacy charms_, he thought, but even more than that. Repelling charms, security charms, obscuring charms – the list went on and on.

In ten minutes, the headmaster had cast an amount of magic that was nearly incomprehensible and it hadn't even left the man sweating.

"Wasn't that a bit excessive?" Harry asked.

"Maybe, but the topics of our conversation are rather sensitive. It is, after all, better to be save than sorry."

"Mhh, true," said Harry and sank deep into a large green pillow.

"You can take out your pipe, Harry," Dumbledore said and frowned a bit. "I assumed that you would want to smoke and included some air-freshening charms."

Harry inclined his head, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "You know what they say about assumptions, professor."

The reproving look Dumbledore gave him nearly made him giggle. "Don't be coarse, my boy. I only worry about your health – smoking can't be good for it."

"Don't worry, professor," Harry said, the smile never leaving. "I already researched some rather obscure healing charms that will heal any damage I inflict on my lungs. Might ask madam Pomfrey if she can help me to learn them though."

Dumbledore had seemingly resigned and just looked disapproving, but Harry, who had spent the last few days exclusively in the company of the esteemed headmaster, also detected a hint of amusement.

"I think I know what charms you mean."

"I had a feeling you would, professor," Harry said and carefully unhooked the pipe from his belt. Not long after, the spicy smell of various herbs filled the room and clouded them in a sense of mystery.

Despite himself, Dumbledore was impressed. The last Potter had achieved what many thrice his age failed to do and created an impression of wisdom that belied his years. He really wondered whether the lad knew that he sometimes unconsciously created a hazy shroud around himself that wasn't unlike his own aura.

The companionable silence stretched on as Harry exhaled clouds of smoke and Dumbledore fished an unlabeled bottle out of his robes. He quirked an eyebrow when the dark red liquid filled the headmaster's cup.

"You know, Harry, there is a yearly celebration to honor _Hathor_ in magical Egypt. I don't know whether the Muggles still do the same, but then it was hold at Bubastis and honored the goddess of love, joy, and drunkenness."

Dumbledore took a healthy gulp from his goblet and let out a content sigh. "_'... when they come to Bubastis they hold festival celebrating great sacrifices, and more wine of grapes is consumed upon that festival than during the whole of the rest of the year._' - I've read these words on an ancient inscription decades ago, and sometimes I wonder why we never had such wonderful customs at home."

"Bubastis?" Harry asked somewhat amused by the headmaster's words.

"An old Egyptian city that sadly is no more. Nowadays the wizard and witches of Egypt flock to Cairo to celebrate such festivals. There are so many gods in this countries mythology, it is a wonder we didn't see an ongoing festival as soon as we arrived here."

For a moment a look of emotional pain flashed over the man's face and he wondered what thought the headmaster just had.

"Nonetheless, I feel it is time for me to tell you why we are here, because as much as I would like it to be, it is sadly not for pleasure."

Harry sat up a bit straighter and focused completely on the man as Dumbledore continued to talk. "At the end of your second year in Hogwarts, after you emerged from the chamber for all intents and purpose victorious over the spirit of Voldemort, you brought with you some very interesting magical items. Can you guess which items I talk about?"

"The book and the sword," Harry whispered and Dumbledore nodded.

"Exactly, though I don't think you understand why those items are so interesting aside from the obvious."

He frowned and thought back to his second year at Hogwarts. The voice coming from the walls, the fear that insanity had him firmly in its grasp, the discovery of his ability to speak parseltongue, the suspicions of his peers, the damning feeling to be ostracized, the petrification, and finally his confrontation with Tom Riddle and his pet, the fifty feet long basilisk. Before Fawkes had helped them out of the chamber, he had stabbed the diary with a fang from the freshly slain basilisk, vanquishing Riddle... still, all of these things were obvious – to him at least.

He shook his head and answered, "No, not really."

"And that is a good thing, Harry. I would have feared for your mental health had you known what I talked about."

Again the look of pain flashed over Dumbledore's face. "I couldn't quite believe it myself, hoped beyond hope that even Voldemort wasn't as depraved as to use the magicks you have witnessed in the chamber of secrets. Alas, he did and when you brought me the diary of Tom Riddle my suspicions were proven to be right."

Harry remained silent and Dumbledore looked contemplating. "Do you have Sirius' dagger with you, Harry? It is time that I introduce you to a new, interesting type of magic."

He was thrown for a loop by the abrupt change of topics, but nodded and pulled out the dagger, presenting it to the headmaster.

"What I will tell you about Voldemort requires the highest of amount of secrecy possible and while magical oaths are powerful, there are ways to circumvent them. Precious few, but it is not a risk I'm willing to take."

Dumbledore took the the dagger from Harry and chuckled when the boy nearly jumped up in concern as he nearly cut his hand in half. The blood pooled in the headmaster's hands and when it was enough he started to trace various unknown symbols onto the desk.

"What I will show you is a minor blood ritual. Definitely not light, as are no magicks that require a sacrifice, but not really dark either. The ministry might disapprove of such things, but for once we can thank the staunch supporters of pureblood traditions that rule the Wizengamot."

"What do I have to do?" Harry asked.

"Just feel it, and it will come to you," Dumbledore answered and spoke a short incantation. "_Jana, consort of Janus, seeker of truth, goddess of secrets. I offer thee my blood for thy protection_."

For a short moment the blood on the table glowed in an unnatural color and then Harry felt it - a foreign presence, completely unknown, was in his head and asked for permission. It asked if he agreed to protect the secrets the headmaster had to share. The question rang through his head, not in words but in feelings and emotions.

The magic felt his acceptance, the room was glowing blood red, and Harry bit back a strangled gasp of pain as something burned itself deep into his wrist. It ended quickly, and when the room was back to normal he saw the symbol on his wrist. Coincidentally, he saw the same symbol on Dumbledore's wrist – a man with two faces, looking away from each other.

"What was that?" He bit out.

"That, Harry, was a secrecy ritual that supersedes magical oaths in every imaginable aspect. You temporarily offered your dagger and magic, and I permanently offered my blood, binding us together as the sharer of the secrets I will tell you now."

"They better be worth it, professor, or you can keep your secrets the next time," Harry said and rubbed his wrist, trying to alleviate the pain.

"Oh, they are, unfortunately they are," Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "I told you that my suspicions were proven correct once I examined the diary. It was a horcrux, probably the blackest magic in existence."

Harry didn't know why, but he shuddered in disgust. The word alone sounded foul. "What is a... horcrux?"

"I know only bits and pieces of the ancient myths, but those are enough to paint a truly horrendous picture. To create a horcrux one has to tear the soul asunder and in return it grants a form of immortality."

"And Voldemort made such a thing?"

Dumbledore shook his head again. "Tom is a foolish man and I believe he made even more than one. Remember, you already destroyed the diary and yet he returned. I know so little about them, it is disconcerting that Tom learned enough to create one when he was just a student. A manipulative and murderous student, but a student nonetheless."

Harry frowned. "So we're here to find and destroy the rest?"

"Not exactly, my boy. It took me nearly two years to hunt down legends, myths, and forgotten lore, but in the end I found a promising lead. The origin of the abomination called horcrux is here in Egypt. We are here to find long lost knowledge about them."

"Egypt is rather large though, professor. Isn't that like searching a needle in a haystack?"

"Why yes, it is. What a marvelous expression! I guess it is something the muggles say? Still, this knowledge is the most important part of our travels and even if we don't have the time to visit any other country, this is a quest we have to fulfill."

"So, where do we start to search?" Harry asked and pondered the problem himself. Where does one start to succeed with such a goal?

"You won't be searching with me at first, Harry," the headmaster began and upon seeing the incredulous look of his charge quickly elaborated. "We will search together once we have a definite location, but until then I have to visit the darker parts of Cairo. Information such as these won't be in the hands of innocent citizens, and I will not risk your life in such a manner. Especially if it isn't strictly necessary."

"Can I explore the city at least?"

Dumbledore's look shifted from concerned to somewhat guilty and Harry groaned. "You're kidding, right?"

"Due to the strict laws it might be a bit dangerous for you to wander the streets without me. Don't worry though you'll have enough to do in the time I'm not here."

Harry raised an eyebrow sceptically and Dumbledore, wondering if Harry had copied the move from Severus, elaborated. "Before our travels began, I compelled a list of spells and magicks that might come in very handy for you. I'd like you to master them, and I'll help you as soon as I'm back from my daily searches."

The last Potter greedily took the small stack of parchment from his mentor's hands and looked through them. Dumbledore had to admit that he felt a bit smug with each widening of Harry's eyes as he read the list.

"These are pretty difficult," Harry said, indicating to the parchment.

"Oh, I'm sure that you will manage to learn _all_ of them while we're here. You're an intelligent lad, after all."

The emphasis on the word _all_ didn't escape Harry. It wasn't a threat, more like an expectation as if there was no doubt that he would be able to learn them. Somehow it filled him with pride that the headmaster had such faith in him, but on the other hand...

He had a lot of work to do.

_A lot_...

* * *

**Egypt - 3. July 1995**

Days went by and while Albus Dumbledore, arguably the strongest wizard of the century searched for clues and leads that might help them in their quest, Harry James Potter trained himself to exhaustion in the room they had rented. He had thought that he managed to see every spell the professor had used when they had arrived – see, not understand – but there was more to magic than what the eye could glimpse, and while he had seen a lot, there were also charms that he hadn't noticed which were later explained to him by the headmaster. Charms that made training a whole lot easier as they repaired every bit of damage he managed to inflict on the room, cushioned him whenever he was thrown back by his own magic, and muffled the noise of his spells to a minimum.

His studies had mainly consisted of introduction to new shields, a few new curses, a bit more information on wards, and a rather heavy handed introduction to the darker aspect of magic. Not for his own use, of course, but theoretical knowledge that had horrified him beyond what he had previously thought possible.

It took one hour, two at most, until his firm believe that the three curses_ Imperio_, _Crucio_, and _Avada Kedavra_ were the worst of the lot, became uprooted. What he had read was even uglier than those and he shuddered when he thought back to the _Edo Corpus_ curse and its three different variations.

_Edo Corpus_, that would make the victim believe that he was eaten alive and _Edo Corpus Os_, that would make mouths appear on the victims body so that he was truly eaten alive. The worst by far however was the _Edo Corpus Coactum_ variant, which compelled the victim to eat itself. It was truly horrifying magic, aptly named the cannibal curse and he had no doubt at all that Voldemort had read about those particular curses.

Compared to such a fate, the killing curse seemed like mercy and he had wondered for a while why the three Unforgivable were considered as such when there were far more devastating curses to be found in the world. In retrospection Dumbledore's answer made sense. They couldn't be blocked and that was all there was to it. Sure, they were dangerous, dark and hurt their victims, but if someone managed to create a way to shield against them with pure magic... it wouldn't take long until they were just classified as highly punishable dark arts.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and was about to incant another spell when the door opened and Dumbledore strode into the room, a satisfied smile on his lips.

"I believe I have found a lead, Harry. There is an old store selling antiques at one of the outposts a few days travel away from Cairo."

"Good, I guess I'll come with you for this one?" Harry asked.

"Of course. I told you that you would accompany me as soon as I've found a more precise lead and I'm true to my word. Have you exhausted yourself much?"

"Nah, not really. How do we get there? Portkey again?"

Dumbledore frowned and pulled a piece of parchment out of his robes. "Unfortunately I only managed to get this crude map. We will apparate as near as possible to our destination and walk the rest of the way."

It didn't take long for Harry to get ready and with a nearly inaudible sound they vanished from their room.

* * *

"This method of travel is even worse than using Portkeys, professor." Harry stated, feeling as if he was about to puke any second. Indeed, side-along apparition was an unpleasant sensation and he sincerely hoped that the normal process of apparating was different. The headmaster, as always, only chuckled and observed him with amusement.

"With experience it won't bother you as much, but I have to agree. Apparation, while highly useful, was never my preference either," Dumbledore explained. "I believe that we have to walk for a few hours, Harry, so keep your eyes open and take in the wonders of the world."

And in the hours they walked, Harry did just that. Non-magical people would have been sorely lacking in amusement though as for a good portion of their walk nothing but sand upon sand was to be seen. What made it interesting for the sophisticated wizard however were the magically protected areas they had to cross in order to reach their destination.

At some points he had felt Muggle-repelling wards wash over him and the dull picture of a desert changed completely. Mountains sprung up where there were none before, sometimes a few sources of water even, generated by ancient magic and overseen by ministry personal. Animals, magical ones at that, could be seen often and the headmaster was nice enough to answer any question that he had about them.

"Those are Lareezes, Harry. They are very proud so be careful never to insult one," Dumbledore explained as he pointed to an animal.

Harry looked over and snorted. "Those are camels, professor. Why didn't we just ride one of those?"

"Ride them? Godness, Harry, what gave you such a bizarre idea! Their humps are filled with poison. Can you imagine the disaster it would bring were you ride them?"

He tried not to laugh – he really did, but the shocked expression of the headmaster was just hilarious and as if a dam had broken, his laughter bubbled up. "I don't know if they're the same, but if they are then muggles have ridden them for thousands of years already, professor."

"Truly?"

"Yes, it was the preferred way to travel through the desert. Some even refer to them as 'desert ships'," explained Harry.

"Riding Lareezes indeed, simply marvelous! I wonder if they truly are the same, or if the species has divided itself into magical and non-magical over the centuries."

"We could make an experiment," Harry said and pondered on the matter. "Why don't we try to ride one? If it works then they're the same, and if not then they're different."

Dumbledore suddenly looked a bit green around the nose and quickly led Harry away from the grazing herd of Lareezes. "I think we will have to conduct that experiment at another time, Harry. First we need to reach our destination."

And so they walked on, still observing the nature around them, but always in motion. Harry even saw a Bicorn, one of the creatures he had slain during the third task, lazily and peacefully grazing on a patch of grass. Soon another ward washed over them, obscuring the view of mountains, water and grass, and instead they found themselves back in the hot and dry desert.

Their march continued for another half and hour until they finally reached the outpost, an odd assortment of four buildings. It wasn't hard to guess the building's purposes either, because large plaques indicated what they were used for. The large Gringotts sign obviously stood for the Goblin bank, the large goblet wasn't hard either and indicated a pub of some sorts. Harry guessed that the plaque with a grain symbol stood for a store that sold equipment, and the last sign, an hourglass, was probably the shop the headmaster had mentioned.

"That must be the shop, Harry. Now let's talk to this knowledgeable man that might have our information," Dumbledore said and walked with quick strides toward the shop with the hourglass. The headmaster knocked politely on the door and the voice from the inside beckoned them into the shop.

And what a shop it was, littered with odd knick-knacks and books that were seemingly from all around the globe. He spied a few books with rather gruesome titles and even saw a Hand of Glory, the item Malfoy had wanted in their second year when Harry had hid in the small cabinet at Borgin and Burkes.

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" The portly man behind the counter asked.

"My apprentice and me are looking for legends and myths about resurrection," the headmaster answered jovially and Harry had to suppress his emotions from showing. Why did Dumbledore state something like that so openly? Although Harry could be cunning occasionally, he wasn't really a sly or sneaky person, but this was blunt – really blunt, even for his standard.

"Resurrection? My goodness man, why would you ever look for something like that? That's rather dangerous territory you're moving on," the man said.

"We're working for the British Institute of Ancient Magic History and we're currently undergoing a field study of ancient Egyptian wizards. Of course, resurrection features quite heavily into your countries culture so every bit you know would help, good sir," Dumbledore said and Harry was somewhat astounded by the smooth lies that left the headmaster's mouth. "But where are my manners! My name is Cornelius Dufge and this is my apprentice Doloran Umbrage, at your service."

Harry nearly choked on his spit as he heard the name and it was quite difficult to keep the twitch in his left eye under control. Cornelius Dufge, really? Nonetheless he nodded eagerly and behaved exactly like he thought a history apprentice should behave.

"It's incredible, sir! By Merlin I just heard about the Hathorn celebrations that took place in Bubastis in the past! Simply marvelous. I can't wait to delve deeper into the mystery that is Egypt!" Harry said, having a lot of fun offering his contribution to the cause.

"Well... yes, I suppose I can tell you a bit then. You see, there's this tomb not far from here, but every time I try to get some of the adventurers or cursebreakers to look into it they just brush me aside. An old, babbling man I am to them! They say that if it is this close to an outpost it's already excavated, but I know it isn't! I'm pretty sure that if you look for history and myths about resurrection, you'll find at least something there," the man said, waving his hands wildly through the air.

"If you tell us where it is then we're going to take a look," Dumbledore replied, still in a nearly hurtful chipper mood.

"Of course, of course. I was there once, you see? I can give you the apparation coordinates. Didn't go in though. Not that I'm scared, no, no, but I'm no cursebreaker. I like my life!"

"Understandable, of course. We'll have to be extra careful in the tomb then," Dumbledore said and waited patiently until the man finished writing down the coordinates and gave him the piece of parchment.

"Thank you, kind sir. We're on our way then."

It was a testament to Harry's mental fortitude that he managed to hold himself together so well, but as soon as they were a respectable distance away from the shop he burst out laughing, sputtering and wheezing.

"Cornelius Dufge, professor? I don't know whether to cry or laugh about that," he said.

"Laughing is obviously the better choice my young history apprentice," Dumbledore replied chuckling. "Anyway, it's still early in the day so I think we should visit the tomb and see if there's anything that could help us. Please take my arm, Harry."

Harry did so, and true to the headmaster's words, the second time didn't seem to be even half as bad. A lecherous grind stretched over his face. It had been awhile since he had heard it, but a few years ago there had been some kind of joke that he hadn't understood at that age. Now, however, he did.

_The first time always hurt_.

* * *

"_Bombarda!_"

The first thing Harry did upon arriving was to listen to his instinct that basically screamed at him to jump. The hairs on his neck rose and he quickly dove behind a rock, barely avoiding the explosion that had rocked the point where he had just stood.

He saw that Dumbledore had simply sidestepped the curse and a silvery shield protected him from the flying sand and debris. Someone was attacking them! The headmaster shouted something at him, but Harry only saw the man's lip move, to loud were the drums of war pounding in his ears. A bloodthirsty grin stretched his face as he noticed the vicious rhythm.

Finally! He had nearly forgotten the feeling, the ecstasy of battle. How could he? How could he have ever forgotten this glorious feeling.

Harry jumped away from the stone as it was smashed to pieces and then the field was alight with colors. Dumbledore could handle himself, he was sure, and so he searched some opponents for himself. It could even been called giddiness that surged through him as he found three wizards that weren't currently occupied with the headmaster...

"_Debiles Fulmen! Reducto! Sagitta! Percutere!_" Curse after curse left his wand and he was excited to see his enemies erect shields in time.

_Oh, it would be fun!_

The small electric strike crashed against the blue shield doing nothing, and so did the _Reducto_ and the _Percutere_, but his third curse, _Sagitta_, hit home and the arrow clipped one of them on the leg. Smiling viciously, Harry walked forward and batted away the incoming curses, sometimes even casting a shield charm when they were particularly strong or dark.

His wand was in constant motion and he transfigured everything that was large enough and was lying around on the battlefield. Rocks became boars, debris, the result of many curses, became flocks of birds and shrubbery developed a life of its own as it constricted their movements whenever possible.

"_Incendio! __Ignis Flagellum!_" A constant stream of fire battered their shields and when it was nearly breaking, Harry's wand became a fiery whip that sent them scurrying out of the way.

"_Crucio!_"

He jumped out of the way of the Unforgivable and narrowed his eyes. Until now the curses had been dark, but still fairly easy to deflect. A _crucio_ was another matter altogether and he had no intention of feeling that particular curse again after the fake Moody had nearly killed him with it during the third task.

He directed his whip, avoiding another two of the curses and sidestepped a beam of green light that looked eerily familiar. His whip wound itself around the legs of one of them and soon they were heavily burned. That man wouldn't be walking anytime soon.

It took another five minutes until he had finally finished off the last of his opponents and turned toward Dumbledore who sat calmly on top a heap of bound and silenced men, sipping from a flask that looked suspiciously filled with alcohol.

"Not bad, Harry. Still needs some work and you took quite long, but you're getting there," the headmaster said and placed his goblet on the head of one of his frozen victims. "Anyway, this was clearly an ambush. Cleverly concocted if I say so myself and it probably would have worked against anyone but us. The shop owner isn't really innocent either if you're wondering."

"Are we going back to the old man and have some words with him?" Harry asked.

"No, that would be a waste of time," Dumbledore said and explained it further. "But he doesn't know that and the fear that we might come back will punish him quite well, I think."

"So, back to Cairo?"

"Yes, my boy, back to Cairo it is," Dumbledore said and rose from his human throne, looking for all intents and purpose like a dark lord. It was a thought that inwardly made Harry giggle like a little girl.

* * *

When they arrived back in Cairo, another shock was waiting for them. Half a dozen of men and women in white robes and adorned with a red trims lingered around their 'hotel', asking questions. It was quite clear that the Aurors of Egypt were onto them and that definitely wasn't a pleasant thought.

"Well, it seems as if you really managed to get their attention, Harry."

"What do we do now, professor?" Harry asked uncertain.

The headmaster's brows furrowed as he thought about it and Harry was amazed by the change of emotions that showed on Dumbledore's face. In the end he looked resigned.

"I will apparate us to an old acquaintance of mine. One I hadn't hoped to meed again..."

"Do you dislike him?"

"Not exactly... you will see what I mean when we are there," Dumbledore answered and with a soft popping sound they left the place.

* * *

"Albus Dumbledore, you really have some nerve to come here after over five decades!"

"Hello Berenib, I'm gla-"

A slap echoed through the house and the woman, quite an old one at that, laid into the mighty Albus Dumbledore with all her being. "Don't Berenib me you ancient relic! I haven't forgotten how you just disappeared to the continent. Probably gallivanting around with that bag of dragon dung, Grindelwald!"

Harry was grinning like a madman at that point, until something quite bizarre caught his eyes. Slender legs, a neatly trimmed triangle, a belly piercing, round melons and to round it off, a smoldering gaze accentuated by long black hair. The naked woman grabbed his ass and leaned over to him.

"Hi there, handsome," she said and Harry had to admit that while it was quite the pleasant sight, he felt slightly bewildered.

That was, until he finally took the time to look at the room he was standing in. Red walls, red cushions, red candles, red drapes, the heavy smell of incense lingered in the air... yep, somehow he felt right at home here.

"Hi, a pleasure to be here," he said and cast another glance around the room. There were other women too, either naked or in various states of undress. Quite exotic, if he said so himself. Harry wasn't a racist, but usually his interest in black woman was rather limited. The one in the far corner to his right however had the biggest breasts he had ever seen, and sweet Maeve, they weren't even sagging.

Magic was simply wonderful.

The shouts of fury brought him back to reality and he looked over to Dumbledore who was still trying to argue with the old woman that called herself Berenib. It was probably the mother, he mused while immensely enjoying the shoulder massage the naked beauty behind him offered.

"Professor," he called over the shouting and directed the attention of both ancients to him. Dumbledore's eyes widened momentarily as he saw Harry. "Please don't argue with the nice mother and apologize. I like it here and it's quite rude to barge in and start shouting in a stranger's home."

The headmaster looked flabbergasted for a moment, and the mother next to him was laughing in between wheezing breaths.

"Your apprentice, I take it? Hehe, I like him,"she said and nudged the headmaster not so gently in the stomach. The old crone seemed to have quite a lot of strength if the headmaster's bent over posture was anything to go by.

"Well, yes... Berenib, might we stay here for a few days?" Dumbledore asked.

"Grovel at my feet for a few days and I'll let you stay," she cackled in response. It was quite bizarre when Dumbledore jumped up and was about to leave until Harry's iron glare firmly locked him into place. Never before had the wizened man felt so stared down in his century long life.

Another cackle escaped Berenib and she clapped her hands twice. "Girls, we have visitors! Wine, fruits, music and company! You know the spiel."

The women shed the rest of their clothing, at least those that weren't naked already. With a mighty grin he looked over to his headmaster and saw that the man was decidedly uneasy, but Harry shrugged it off. It wasn't any of his business.

* * *

**Egypt - 9. July 1995**

The last six days had been the most pleasurable, memorable and enjoyable he had in his life so far. Days were spent lazing around, listening to the girl's tales, playing cards and dices with them and enjoying their company in any capacity he could.

_Any_.

Sure, it might have been prudent to study more, especially after the headmaster had urged him to, but somehow the thought of dusty old tomes wasn't nearly as appetizing as the nubile flesh that was around him all day now. A few words of choice from Bernib had left Dumbledore a stuttering mess afterward and Harry was free to enjoy the days in peace.

With a content sigh he sunk deeper into the abnormally large cushion and opened his mouth, greedily accepting the grape that Kiya had just offered him. A few sensual licks of her fingers later and she settled down next to him, quite naked and laughing softly when she noticed his undisguised leer. The strong smell of incense was only strengthened by the puffs of smoke that he periodically emitted from his pipe.

Honestly, if it weren't for Voldemort he would probably never accept to leave this place again. As it was however, Harry knew that the days of pleasure would be over soon. Every day, Dumbledore returned with just a bit more smugness in his smile and he knew that it wouldn't take much longer for the headmaster to find another lead.

_Speak of the devil and the devil may come_...

Just as he wanted to bring his thoughts about ravishing Kiya into reality, the door to his room opened and the headmaster strode in. Dumbledore's disapproving stare met an innocent shrug and after a few seconds long stalemate, Harry cracked a grin and the headmaster shook his head bemused.

"I fear the good times are coming to an end, my boy. I just swallowed a small dose of liquid luck potion and overheard quite an interesting conversation a few alleys away. Get ready, Harry, we're moving out soon."

Harry sighed deeply and gave Kiya's left breast a good squeeze, eliciting a squeal. "Where to, professor? I'd like to know our destination this time," he said.

"A few hundred miles to the south west of Cairo an excavation was suddenly aborted and the whole team left the newly discovered tomb as quickly as possible. Why is not known, but it is the best lead we currently have."

Harry nodded and rose from his cushion. The time for pleasure was over and now the hard work would begin anew.

* * *

**Egypt - 10. July 1995**

"Here it is, Harry. Can you feel it? Can you feel the magic?" Dumbledore asked as he walked toward a place that would look like just another area of sand to an outsider. His voice was reverent and he wore a benign smile. In truth, Harry thought that Dumbledore seemed to belong to places such as this. The concentration of magic in the air was incredibly high, maybe even higher than in Hogwarts, and like a moth drawn to the flame he couldn't help himself but walk toward it, completely unaware of the amusement that shone in Dumbledore's eyes.

Harry lifted his hand and although he wasn't able to see it, he certainly felt the magic as it wove around his fingers like water, neither feeling dark nor light, neither welcoming nor resisting him.

"It draws us in, does it not? Century old, no, millennium old magicks saturate this place. Some wizards, Harry, visit places like this and don't feel a thing. To sense it, to feel it in its entirety makes us privileged. Don't you think so?"

"Yes," Harry answered, still not believing he was actually in Egypt, one of the first places where magic came to be.

"Do you want to see it? Go even further beyond the incredible sensation?"

Harry turned around, his tone was pleading. "Please... if there is a way to... it's- it's incredible."

"I don't think your mage sight has developed just yet, but there is a spell I learned a long time ago. I can't hold it too long as it is rather exhausting, but you will be able to see... for a short moment that is."

"Please," Harry asked again. He wanted to, no, he _had_ to see it. Had to verify with his own eyes that this sensation was real and not just a figment of his imagination.

"Very well," Dumbledore said and pulled his wand out of his robes.

"_Sérat ûn Æthølōs - Ařwãƾ nøs Løđioch_," the headmaster's voice rumbled in a deep timbre, and Harry felt it before he saw it. Incredible amounts of magic converged around the older man, his robes and beard whipping around in a wind that hadn't been there seconds ago. The wand moved in patterns he had never seen before, tracing symbol after symbol into the air.

"Are you ready? Ready to see farther than you ever did, to get a glimpse of what was hidden from us mere mortals so many aeons ago?" Dumbledore asked, or rather shouted over the howling wind.

"Yes!", Harry shouted back, his message nearly lost amongst the noise.

"So be it - _Løđioch as Åchâmøn_!"

Magic responded to the headmaster's call, brought its full might upon the two souls that wanted to watch it in all its glory. Like waves, the currents of magic shifted around them, became visible and hypnotized them with their beauty. Golden mist swirled around them, forming clouds, releasing itself and vanishing into nothingness again just to start the cycle anew.

He had tears in his eyes, didn't dare to speak in fear that it would scare the magic away. Tentatively his hand reached out and just as hesitant the magic of the place touched him, judging him and his intentions. Blood and sweat, the life of hard work as it was built, death and decay as its intended members were laid to rest. He didn't see the tomb, but felt how it was built through the magicks that now surrounded him. The intentions of casters, dead for thousands of years, swept into him and it was as beautiful as it was awe inspiring.

Just as fast as it came the feeling and magic vanished. His sight returned to its normal state...

_And, all that was left was a profound sense of longing – of belonging_.

Harry turned to his mentor and saw the man kneeling on the ground in exhaustion, his knees tremblings and his hair and beard in disarray. Yet when Dumbledore directed his eyes to him there was nothing in his gaze but pure joy.

Joy that was able to brighten even the darkest days.

Slowly Dumbledore stood up and although the man had to fight hard to keep himself upright, he radiated a sense of contentedness that was hard to describe.

"Ah, Harry, my boy," he whispered and Harry walked over to help the man. "It has been far too long since I last witnessed it. Indeed, I feel like I've just met with long lost family."

"Sir, I-" Harry searched for words, but found none. What he had just seen was beyond any description.

"I know, Harry. Believe me, I know. My sight allows me to see something similar, if severely dulled, when I wish to, but... to once again see it completely – it renders a man speechless, leaves us in awe, does it not?"

Harry nodded and when he saw that the headmaster had still problems standing up he quickly reached to his belt – the _Belt of Hypolytos_ – and fetched a bottle of Pepper-up potion. Dumbledore took it gratefully and seconds later he was able to once again stand under his own power.

"Will I be able to see it again?" Harry asked.

"I have no doubt that you will, my boy. Once the opportunity arises and the occasion calls for it, never doubt that you will see it again. Now, lets pass through the illusion of sand and see what you just felt," Dumbledore said and with quick strides they walked through the Illusion ward.

Here, in magical Egypt, it was much more believable that such a thing existed than in the bazaar of Izmir.

They wandered through rows of abandoned tents, once belonging to the base of operation of the investigation and cursebreaking team, until they stopped before a nondescript building.

"Stairs," Harry whispered as he inspected the building. "I guess those lead to the tomb."

"Right you are, Harry. From now on please follow my lead exactly," Dumbledore said and cast a glance around the campsite. "The people who researched this didn't leave in an orderly fashion. I believe it was more of a hastened abandonment wrought in fright and terror."

Harry couldn't help himself and a shiver of anticipation ran over his spine. "Do you think we'll have troubles?"

"Oh yes, of that I have no doubt, but we should be fine as long as we are careful."

Dumbledore took the first step into the darkness and Harry followed obediently. The strange glow in his eyes went unnoticed as he contemplated the peaceful sensation he felt despite the danger the tomb would bring.

* * *

AN: Egypt is apparently quite the ride for our hero. Anyway, here is a summary of the new magicks:

_Sérat ûn Æthølōs - Ařwãƾ nøs Løđioch_ / A charm of power to allow a person a short glimpse into pure magic

_Ignis Flagellum_ - Firewhip

_Edo Corpus Curses_ - Cannibal Curses

_Lareezes_ - Camels, or maybe even their magical equivalent

Hope you had fun, and I'll try to update soon!


	15. Chapter 14

And here we are! The 14. chapter of MotA, hope you'll enoy it!

* * *

**Magicks of the Arcane**

Chapter XIV

* * *

**Egypt 28. July 1995**

His lips parted violently, a silent scream escaped. Restless movements were coupled with periods of changing temperature. Hot to cold; icy cold to searing hot. Spasms rocked the fragile body – sheets damp with sweat – and Albus Dumbledore had no other option but to look on and watch how his apprentice fared against odds that were, once again, impossible to beat.

Partly illuminated by the fire of a lone torch his expression was one of worry, maybe even self-loathing for having dragged the young boy into another deathly situation. It seemed to be his destiny – no, _their_ destiny.

How much could a man endure before he broke? How long could the boy last until he finally shattered? It was a burden too heavy to bear, a price too high to pay – yet pay he had to, and the feeling of helplessness sent throngs of ice cold rage through his aged blood. His gnarled hand rose to wipe the sweat off of the boy's forehead, but he stopped before he came even close; his hand fell loosely to the side.

What right did he have to even touch the boy? By all rights Harry should have hated him the first time he learned of his manipulations. And still, despite all his misgivings, all his lies, Harry had forgiven him. It was humbling. It was enough to change a man and now, after some time had gone by, he reminisced - reminisced and wondered why Fawkes had stayed with him through all of it.

The temperature changed again and Albus nearly _felt_ the heat radiating from the boy's body.

He silently cursed himself for his foolishness. The signs had been there, lying visible right in front of his eyes and like the blind old man he was, he had ignored them. Why had he even thought it was a good idea to bring the boy into the tomb? A tomb that had sent the experienced excavation team before them running in fright.

He had been a fool, _again_.

Information on horcruxes they found, but unfortunately so much more than that. So much more...

* * *

"_Stay with me now, Harry. Follow my lead!" _

_Step after step was taken, leading them deeper and deeper into the darkness. It was all-consuming and he couldn't suppress the shiver that ran down his spine. His days as an explorer were long over and although temptation always reared her head he never gave in, was always content with educating the young minds. The last time he had entered a tomb had been with Gellert, searching for the hallows._

_He shook his head, banishing those uncomfortable and treacherous thoughts, and lifted his hand. A glowing orb appeared and rose steadily until it covered both of them, shedding light were there was __none before. _

"_Neat," Harry said with a hungry look. "Mind teaching me that later, professor?"_

_Another young mind to teach, maybe even someone he considered family. "Of course, Harry," he answered amused. "For now let's concentrate on what lies ahead though."_

* * *

What lied ahead indeed. Not in his darkest dreams had he ever thought up what those ancient Egyptian wizards came up with to defend their resting place. Tom Riddle was a being of pure malice – he was far beyond the point of calling Voldemort a human – but even he would have troubles to think of more insidious traps. It was only a theory, but he believed that the main weapon those ancient wizards employed in their tomb was their _sanity_.

They had emotions – ranging from hatred to love – but instead of discarding those they considered useless... they embraced them. With the knowledge of them, of how they worked and how they could change a person completely, they set up their traps, preying on _everything_ that made one human – fear, anger, hatred, lust, love, jealousy, and on it went.

It was the one difference Tom had always ignored and Albus was immensely thankful for it. The only emotions Voldemort worked with were anger, hate and fear, considering love to be neither shield nor sword.

Albus sighed. These were rather philosophical thoughts, but they were true nonetheless. Should Harry survive again, defying death _again_, he would cut their travels short and sent the boy on a long overdue vacation while he dealt with the rest.

* * *

_The chiseled pictures and stories on the walls had stretched seemingly forever and it felt like they had walked for hours already. Their path had been filled with what he expected from an unexplored tomb in the middle of Egypt. Labyrinth like structuring, dark curses and hexes flying their way nearly every minute, muggle traps that were, despite their lack of magic, as ancient as they were deadly. Poisonous snakes around some odd corners, strong wards around every new chamber they discovered. _

_Another vicious bolt of sickly yellow looking light hurled toward them._

"_Clypeus!"_

_Hours of conditioning in these dark halls made the boy react if even the slightest of movement caught his eye and Albus watched in slight jealousy how the reflexes of youth made it look natural when Harry erected a bronze colored shield between them and the curse. The spell crashed against the shield with the force of a battering ram and the boy buckled under the strength of it. _

_Albus was, undeniably, rather proud when the curse was finally absorbed into the shield. The choice of protection was excellent as any other shield of lower quality would probably have failed. It was, after all, a nasty variant of the vampirism curse._

"_How many makes that now?" Harry asked when he had finally caught his breath. "Must have been around twenty or so of those..."_

_And indeed it was correct. The deeper they went into the tomb, the darker the curses became and a rush of pride surged through Albus as he watched his young apprentice. The boy looked worn, but alert and after hours of fighting alongside him, he couldn't help but admire his tenacity and creativity. No trap managed to hold them for long, no snake reached them, each curse was batted away, shielded against, or dodged. _

"_That seems about right, my boy. Now, we must be even more careful," he said and gestured to the archway of stone in front of them. "This might be the entrance to another chamber and I can sense the wards around it. If nothing else, experience should have taught us in the last few hours... whatever lies behind this is more deadly than what lies behind us."_

"_Now," he added, "Help me to unravel these wards, please."_

_And so they wove their wands around the magic, disconnecting, guiding and reconnecting its strands, always careful not to wake the ancient protections in them. Normally he would have done it himself as he had over a century more of experience than the young lad, but it had taken only half an hour into the tomb until they learned that a lone explorer would have a really hard time. Some traps were built with such a layout that two people at least were needed to escape, and some of the ancient wards needed such a power to overcome that a single wizard, no matter how smart or powerful, simply wasn't able to do it._

_After a few minutes the wards gave in and Albus breathed a sigh of relief. The wards, like their fellow protections, had become stronger the deeper they went. _

_Cautiously they moved into the chamber, the orb of light giving them vision... until it was extinguished. _

"_Harry?" he shouted into the darkness, but no answer came forth. _

_His worry grew and he gathered his power. If he had to obliterate the whole damn dungeon to get to his apprentice, then so be it. Torches on the walls ignited and he was suddenly facing the last person he had ever expected to face._

"_You?"_

_His question was filled with denial, anger, hope and love in one. _

"_It is me, Albus. Don't tell me you don't recognize me," she said and it felt like honey suddenly ran through his veins. He knew it wasn't real, how could it be, but god he wished it to be. Oh, how he wished it to be..._

_He trembled as he lifted his wand. "By Merlin, I wish it was really you, Arianna. But no Boggart will defile your memory!"_

_His expression was fierce. "Riddiculus!"_

_The woman in front of him didn't vanish, didn't turn into something he could laugh about – it was difficult to even find something to laugh about in his greatest fear and shame._

"_You're not real. You can't be!" he shouted. _

_The laughter that met his shout sounded like the tingling of winter bells and he cursed himself for his weakness. It sounded just like her, just like he had always remembered it – just like he had heard it hundreds of times in his pensieve._

"_Can't I?" she asked and stepped forward. "Why, Albus? Why can't I? Am I not like you remember me? Is it that hard to believe?"_

"_You're dead!" Albus shouted frantically, tears building in the corner of his eyes. It would be so easy just to believe, but he wouldn't, he couldn't. "No magic can bring back the dead. You're not Arianna, no matter how much you look like her!"_

_Another step forward. "After all these years, Albus, you still don't recognize it?"_

"_There's nothing to recognize! We're in the middle of Egypt, far away from Arianna's resting place. No, you aren't her."_

"_Oh, Albus, I have waited decades for this moment. To see you again... I wandered between the planes, tethered neither to live nor to death, just in between. Can't you see it? Can't you sense the magicks of the hallows?"_

_His wand was still pointed at the witch that looked just like his dead sister, but it became harder and harder to hold it upright. "The hallows? But they're in Britain, how could they be anywhere else?" _

"_Are they really, Albus? Use your mind like you have always done... the magicks of the hallows precedes every legend of those foolish Peverell brothers."_

_It was a theory he often thought about. Were the three hallows of the legend really the only artifacts with such power? Or had such power already existed way before the three brothers stumbled upon it and wove a legend around it?_

"_It is ancient magic, Albus. And it permeates the whole tomb. That is what finally allowed me to appear before you. The same magic that created the Resurrection stone... My time here is short brother, too long have I wandered the lost planes and soon, all too soon death will finally claim me. Until then, let us make the most of my remaining time on the mortal coil, won't we?"_

_Her arms were wide open and she was but inches away from him. It was tempting, too tempting to describe it with mere words. His sister... could it really be? Was it really possible?_

_A scream of anguish escaped him, a cruel mixture between a cry and sobs, as his wand moved through the air, cutting through the figure of his sister relentlessly. Fountains of blood hit him, coloring his beard, his face and his robes in dark red. The lifeless face of his sister stared accusingly at him and parts of her body had been thrown across the chamber as the result of his short lived rage._

_He was back in the chamber, the orb of light still above him to illuminate the area and to his left knelt Harry. The boy looked as broken as he himself felt, with tears streaking down his cheeks and muttering incomprehensible words. He turned around, wanted to make sure that it had been the last surprise the chamber held for them._

_And he recoiled in horror._

_The head of Arianna was still there, as were the parts of her body. He frantically looked around and nearly retched in disgust. There, lying next to his apprentice, were the stabbed bodies of the Potters, the dagger of Sku'grad still protruding from Lily's lithe body. _

_It was too much. Way too much. It didn't matter whether or not there were any information about horcruxes here, he had to get them out of this chamber. With agility that belied his age he grabbed the boy and heaved him toward the exit of the chamber and into another long hallway of darkness. _

_Albus wasted no time to seal the chamber with every bit of magic he knew. Hopefully it would never be seen again... The face of Arianna still stared at him, and this time he knew for sure that it was his curse that killed her. And it nearly broke him._

* * *

A lone tear escape him as he thought about what had happened in the tomb. That particular chamber had been one of the most horrible ones, but there had been more - oh, so many more. Even darker curses, Inferi and scores of other undead creatures awaited them. Mystical creatures, a basilisk, even an undead Nundu... they all became minor nuisances if compared to the horrors the other chambers unleashed on them.

Preying on their emotions and fears, illusions were woven with cruel precision. Towering walls of fire threatened to consume them with each new step they took and, after what seemed like weeks, his sense of reality started to blur. The line between sanity and insanity slowly vanished, until he himself wasn't even sure if he was truly who he always thought he was.

All the simpler it was for the cruel magicks to take hold of their minds. Many dead acquaintances were seen again, so many horrid memories relieved and even though the boy – now lying in a bed moving restlessly – soldiered through with a will of iron that Albus admired, he was sure that Harry's experiences had been equally as horrendous, if not worse.

"You should rest, professor. Although she doesn't show it, mistress Berenib is worried about you," a young woman next to him said.

He appreciated the sentiment, but there was no way he would leave the boy now, even if his inability to help drove him insane.

"I fear that rest won't come to me until Harry is out of danger," he answered and gentle patted her shoulder.

If only they had never set foot into the thrice cursed tomb...

* * *

_Both, apprentice and mentor, looked at each other and walked into the next chamber. The days had blurred into weeks and both were beyond mere words now. Whatever the next chamber held, they were ready, or as ready as they could be at least._

_Battered and bruised they stepped into the large circular room and hysterical laughter bubbled up in his throat. It was the end, pure and simple. No other way but the one they had come from led out of the chamber and in the middle, illuminated by dozens of torches, was a single sarcophagus. Too relieved to have finally reached the end, he failed to warn Harry and in reckless abandon the boy stumbled up to the grave, eagerly shoving away the heavy stone lid that sealed it._

_A mistake that soon proved to be the biggest he had made yet._

_With incredible force they were flung away from it, crashing against the decorated walls of the chamber. And with unbelieving eyes, Albus watched how magic became visible without a spell. Visible it was, but it remained nothing of the beauty he had come to associate with it._

_Strands of thick, ink black magic convalesced on one point, forming a ball as dark as night. It stretched, became bigger and bigger and each of his senses screamed at him to run away. Disgust welled up inside of him as he watched the ball. Evil did not describe it accurately, and the darkest magic Tom Riddle had ever used had nothing on whatever this was. _

_Old memories, of times spent researching with Gellert, assaulted him and he knew what it was. He knew it with a frightening assurance that made him shiver. Black Magick – the art to summon demons and transcend the boundaries between worlds._

_He quickly got up and lifted his wand. A short look toward his apprentice revealed the boy to be unconscious. Good, this was magic far beyond him. Far beyond anyone that roams the mortal world, but he would be damned before he simply gave up and surrendered to the incoming darkness._

_The black ball shaped itself and with a few well placed spells he tried to disrupt the process – to no avail. _

_The being that greeted him when the forming was complete, was simply beyond his comprehension. It physically hurt just to look at it and he knew instinctively that he was at a disadvantage. A severe one at that, for he did not dare to look the beast into the eyes. Too great was his fear to simply surrender himself to insanity, as it was the Abyss that would stare right back at him._

"_Labores Solis!" _

_And the first words were spoken._

* * *

The battle had been furious. The war between light and dark, white and black had been waged for hours. And although it had taken all of his knowledge, all of his power to drive the darkness back, hope had filled Albus heart as he went toe to toe against the demon, throwing around the deadliest spells he knew of.

With each hit the demon had taken, it had become smaller - until nothing but a tiny dot of black remained. It had been exactly in that moment, when Albus had been about to deal the finishing blow, that Harry had awaken and the demon, seedy creature that it was, had immediately identified a possible way to escape.

The black dot had raced across the chamber and before he knew it, it had entered the mind of his apprentice. Albus had quickly taken his apprentice and the few scrolls that had been lying in the sarcophagus, and with a primal fury unseen in centuries, he had forcefully punched a hole through the wards around the chamber before apparating them out.

And now he sat here, on the wooden chair next to the bed his apprentice was lying on. And the only question he had when he considered the mental battle the boy was fighting just now, was which color Harry's eyes would be when he finally woke up.

_Green for the innocence of youth that was Harry._

_Red for the devil that was Voldemort, if indeed the scar was a horcrux like he suspected._

_Black for the Demon from another world that would bring terror in a humans body._

* * *

**AN: **Well that's it. Rather short one this time, but I really wanted to publish it. Unfortunately you probably won't get another chapter this month and even the next one looks rather sketchy due to university.

Spells used this chapter:

Labores Solis - Eclipse of the sun (let your imagination run wild!)

Clypeus - A bronze shield of magic to absorb mid- to high-level dark curses.


	16. Chapter 15

Hah! Real life can't hold me down for long :P No, really, I messed up... I forgot to sign up for two of my exams and now I got more time on my hands (much to the chagrin of my parents) Well, at least for you this is good news as it means that you won't have to wait two months until the next chapter! Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this one, especially the last part... R&R and if you have any questions, ask them in the comments or pm me.

* * *

**Magicks of the Arcane**

Chapter XV

* * *

**Egypt 29. July 1995**

It hurt. The pain lanced through his body when he tried to open his eyes and his world was filled with bright lights. _Merlin_, it hurt.

Harry blinked a few times, trying to accustom his eyes to the sudden light, but it did nothing to make his headache go away. What the hell had happened? He tried to remember, tried to pry the memories out of his abused mind and when he finally succeeded, when the circumstances of the last few weeks became clear, he groaned and wished he hadn't remembered at all.

His hands went to the nightstand next to the bed in a desperate attempt to find his glasses while he inwardly marveled at the softness of the silky bedsheets. Such comfort hadn't been possible in the days he had spent in the tomb with Dumbledore and now, after surviving his latest encounter with darkness, he finally understood the saying that one should never take things for granted.

What a fine mess he was in now. Honestly, he wondered how he had even managed to survive. The battle with both, Riddle's soul and that of the demon hadn't given him much of a chance. And maybe his win had something to do with the pounding headache...

"Bloody hell," he muttered as he put up his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. That hadn't been what he expected when they started their adventure in Egypt. No, that definitely hadn't been what he expected at all.

"Harry?"

The hesitant and wary question made him look up and he was startled to see that Dumbledore holding him at wand point. Well, the man had every right to be wary. Of course, it wasn't clear to him who had emerged victorious, the demon, Riddle, or himself. In the end, he supposed, it was a mixture of the latter two. Voldemort's piece of soul hadn't been all too accommodating toward the demon and Harry himself had been more than pissed off about the intrusions in his mind.

There was a first for everything, even for a time when Harry would willingly work together with Tom and utilizing both their strengths they drove out the demon, banishing it forever from this plane of existence. Then again, it had been clear from the beginning that afterward their fragile truce would break and they would turn on each other. How else could it have been? Voldemort's soul was unwilling to leave its host and Harry was dead set against a parasitic leech of the dark lord in his head.

So they fought. They fought and they battled, in the process nearly ripping his mind apart. And in the end, Harry emerged as the victor. Superficially at least. Dumbledore narrowed his eyes and gripped his wand tighter. No doubt because he saw the odd mixture of colors in his eyes – green and red.

It was completely and utterly undesirable, but what was a man to do? He could only do what he always did – roll with the punches, taking life as it came.

"It's me, Professor."

"Somehow I'm not really convinced," replied Dumbledore, his wand still firmly pointed at the last Potter.

"You know, if I had any funny bone left in my body after the last events I'd call myself Harrymort, or Voldepotter."

That had obviously been the wrong thing to say as the headmaster looked even more serious and subtly shifted into a battle stance.

"... you could use legilimency, Professor. Maybe you could chain Voldemort deeply into some dark confines in my mind. Not sure if it's possible, but it sure as hell would help. He's quite persistent, you know?"

Dumbledore's eyes widened and instantly Harry felt the man's mind brush against his own. Curious, it seemed as if the battle had left him somewhat sensitive to the mind arts. He couldn't see it, but he felt how the headmaster dragged Riddle's consciousness into some dark place and bound him there. The headache lessened and Dumbledore left his mind.

"Well, my boy, it is good to have you back. You had me quite worried."

"I can imagine," Harry snorted. "Did we at least get what we came for? Or was the whole expedition for nothing?"

"Oh, we got exactly what we searched for. That and much more, unfortunately."

"Kay, but before you tell me anything else... can I smoke here? I really need something to calm my nerves," Harry asked.

Dumbledore's brows rose. "You seem remarkably calm to me."

"Really subtle, Professor. And I just force myself not to panic right now. As soon as you walk out of the door I'm either going to cry or invent my very own brand of misery."

"I had to try at least, Harry," Dumbledore said. "And you should really stop smoking. It isn't good for you."

"That train left a while ago. I'm too deeply entrenched in debauchery and sin already," Harry commented with a wry grin.

"At least I can confirm that you're neither Voldemort nor a demon. That is something I suppose. Everything you need is in the drawer to your left."

Harry nodded thankfully and soon the calming puffs of smoke filled the air around them. Sometimes he really enjoyed the disapproving frown of the headmaster.

"Now, the scrolls we got from the tomb confirmed my suspicions," said Dumbledore. "And they also gave me some additional information about _horcruxes_. Especially on how they are made and how they can be destroyed."

"Destroyed? If the diary was a _horcrux_ too, then basilisk venom should work."

"The venom is very corrosive, true, but it could have been a fluke. That wouldn't be the first time magic played a practical joke on us mere mortals after all. It's better to have some confirmation. Also, the instructions on how to make one gave me some interesting insight."

"Oh?" Another stream of smoke entangled itself with its brothers in the air.

"Making a _horcrux_ splits the soul evenly. So, if we assume that the diary was Tom's first then it was an even fifty-fifty split. The next one would have split the remaining fifty in half, and so on," Dumbledore explained. "I'm sure that is the main reason why the cruel but calm and collected Tom Riddle turned into an insane dark wizard with sudden bouts of rage."

"Mhh, how can they be destroyed?"

"Fiendfyre, Basilisk venom, or some rather obscure and ancient rituals."

"Do we know how many he made?" Harry asked and furrowed his brow. This whole immortality thing didn't exactly make him feel warm and fuzzy inside. How depraved had a man to be, to use such extreme measures.

"No, and that is the _crux_ of the matter," Dumbledore answered and Harry rolled his eyes. "If we knew how many he has, we could anticipate whether or not he is able to make another one. There comes a point when the remaining soul resists a further split. It is completely unheard of to even create a second one, but we already know that he did it. Most likely a third one as well. Maybe even more."

Dumbledore shook his head. "And that brings us to the matter of your scar. I'm sure you have already guessed it."

"It's a _horcrux_, a living one at that. Not too sure how I feel 'bout that," Harry answered.

"Exactly and it begs the question of how we can remove it. I have no idea, but there is someone who might know. Mind you, it is also possible that he doesn't even know what a _horcrux_ is, but the man in question is older than me and has a lot of experience with the darkness of the world."

"So our next destination is this mysterious person you know?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore answered. "But I fear it will be quite a long journey until we reach him."

"Where?" Harry asked, not really happy about what his future held.

"Why, ancient China of course."

The last few hours of their preparations made Harry feel conflicted. On one hand he wanted nothing more than to leave this infernal country behind him – the bout of mortal combat with Voldemort and the demon saw to that – but on the other hand he truly enjoyed his last moments with Kiya and the pleasure of her flesh made it hard to hate the country in its entirety.

The headmaster, _of course_, was understanding and consoled him, but Harry had the sinking suspicion that the old man enjoyed his misery, now that he was out of live threatening danger.

* * *

**China 03. August 1995**

It was an interesting experience, wandering through the Chinese countryside, passing large fields of rice and also, in a bizarre contrast, gigantic modern buildings that dwarfed their English cousins in both, size and magnitude.

He knew, how could he not after living a large part of his life as a muggle, that those buildings, which reached the sky and sometimes even seemed to break it, belonged to large companies, completely unaware of the magical world. Of course, he only saw them when they were traveling through one of the larger cities.

The headmaster had insisted on sharing his knowledge about magical China, claiming that it just wasn't right to visit a country of such a rich and diverse culture without knowing anything about it, and what had followed that exclamation was a short, but definitely enlightening crash course in Chinese mythology and development – on the magical side at least. In matters concerning the muggle side, the headmaster remained woefully ignorant and Harry took great pleasure in making the older man marvel at the ingenuity of some inventions.

"Compound artimater, you say? And it can cure, how did you call it, Malaria?" questioned the headmaster as they passed another small village, this one looking far more rural and oddly out of place in modern times.

"Artemether," answered Harry. "And yes, it cures Malaria. Do wizards know it?"

"Malaria? I can't say I ever heard of it, my boy. Maybe you could describe the symptoms. There might be another name for it."

"Eh, as far as I know there are several types of it. Not really sure. But I think fever and chills are symptoms."

"That's rather vague. There are many diseases with these symptoms. How does it come to be? I seem to remember that the Black Death in the fourteenth century was transmitted by rats," Dumbledore said. "Horrible time that must have been. At least until Dareth Marques found a cure for us wizards."

Harry resisted the urge to sigh. Why, oh why, couldn't Binns teach like this? "I'm not sure about the details, but I think a mosquito transfers it."

"A mosquito? Ah, I think I know what you mean. Though I was under the assumption that muggles called it swamp fever."

"Might be. Probably has a lot of names."

"True, too true. Well, we call it _Maraquias disease_. Named after the magical brother of the mosquito. Tricky little devils they are and it took ages to discover that their wings, then a major ingredient for a lot of potions, were what made wizards and witches around the globe ill."

"_Maraqiuas_," Harry tested the word. "Around the globe, huh? I guess that everyone used it in their potions. Definitely more widespread then as it was in the muggle world."

"Indeed, but necessity is a harsh mistress and before long Antonin Feros developed the cure for it. That was around the fifteenth century if memory serves right."

"So the wings can be used now? Can't say I ever saw them in class with Snape," Harry said and instantly recognized his mistake. Hesitantly he turned to his mentor and groaned when he saw the blasted twinkle on full power. "Professor Snape, I mean."

"Good of you to remember, my boy. Niceties must be obliged after all. Anyway, the wings can still be used in potions, sometimes they are even required, but don't forget that the disease struck hard. Even now, after centuries have passed, people fear the consequences of using them," Dumbledore stroked his beard and nodded thoughtfully. "It isn't rational behavior, of course, but fear seldom makes us think logically."

Somehow Harry had the feeling that the discussion wasn't so much about the disease anymore. "At least people didn't ban their use out of fear. That's something."

"Hmpf," Dumbledore wrinkled his nose. "They tried. I can remember at least three different movements to pass laws of that kind through the Wizengamot in my tenure. Then again, _Maraquias_ wings only regulate a small part of a potion's potency so the tries remained just that, tries."

The headmaster suddenly stopped and looked over to Harry. "How do you even know about this ' _Compound Artemether_'? That seems to be rather advanced knowledge."

Harry shrugged. "Wasn't much to do during school breaks. Without someone hounding you, the library can actually be a pleasant place."

If the headmaster caught his veiled reference to Hermione, he didn't comment on it. Instead, both resumed their discussion about magical China which, if Dumbledore was to be believed, was one of the major shakers in the IWC due to its size. Magical settlements quite similar to Hogsmead were spread throughout the whole country with a central hub that made Diagon Alley look very small in comparison situated in Beijing. And although Harry wasn't really into Herbology, he did enjoy their brief stay on a farm that looked deceptively like one that grew rice when, in fact, it was used to grow all manners of different magical plants.

They traveled for two more days, partly gathering information and partly sightseeing, until the lush green slowly changed into snow white and the valleys were replaced by hills and mountains. His feet had started to hurt days ago when they were still traversing the many fields, but unfortunately their usual means of magical transportation didn't really work.

"Why don't we just floo through the country?" Harry asked.

"We know nothing here, Harry. So, where would we floo to?" came the quick reply from his headmaster that shot down his genius idea completely.

"What about Apparating?" Harry tried again. His feet were killing him.

"It's incredibly dangerous to apparate if you don't have the exact coordinates, have been to the place before, or have a line of sight to your destination. We could easily plant ourselves into a wall that way. And that's the least deadly possibility."

"Why don't we apparate from one point to another in our line of sight then?"

"Well, my boy, if you have the magical power to do so over a large amount of time, be my guest. I, however, value my yet undamaged magic too much for it."

And another possibility was shot down by the great Dumbledore. Harry wasn't finished however, not by a long shot. He hurt, was cranky and by Merlin, he would find a way. He thought about it a bit more and got an idea.

With a triumphant grin he turned to the headmaster. "Then let's call Hedwig and Fawkes. I'm sure they could take us."

"We could try, but do you think Hedwig has been to the place we want to go? I don't think Fawkes has ever been there, so they probably can't take us. Phoenixes, as powerful as they might be, must have been to the place they want to flash to."

"And the chamber? I don't think Fawkes was there before," Harry answered.

"True, but you were there, Harry. In that case, Fawkes homed in on your magical signature and not the place you where at."

Well, there was one last possibility and Harry would be damned before he didn't have tried everything. "Can't you make a Portkey, Professor?"

"Mhh, I could make one," Dumbledore answered, but Harry had a bad feeling about it. The twinkling was too bright for it to be anything good. "Then again, my friend is rather paranoid and the whole place is warded against incoming Portkeys."

And the hope came crashing down, just as he expected. He really should have known...

"So we can only travel by foot?"

"That and by car, train and broom," the headmaster replied cheerfully, but as it was, Harry didn't really appreciate the man's joy.

Their journey continued and before he knew it, they were completely surrounded by snow. His distaste for the color grew each time he looked ahead and saw only more white. The mountain paths they traversed weren't easy to walk either and both, sticking as well as heating charms had to be applied in vast amounts.

They arrived at a fork when Dumbledore suddenly stopped.

"We have two options now as far as I remember," he said. "Either we take the left path and probably encounter some rather vicious snow trolls, or we take the right one and have to concern ourselves with Goblin customs for quite a long time. There's a, let's call it a keep, for some of the more bloodthirsty Goblins."

"Goblins? Here?" Harry asked incredulous.

"Yes. Followers of the faith in _Irgath ul Thr'az_, the paragon for every Goblin that belongs to the warrior caste."

"Why don't we go to the keep then? Would have thought that the peaceful solution is more to your liking, Professor."

Dumbledore let out an uncharacteristic snort. "Followers of _Thr'az_ peaceful? I think they would rope you into an arena fight somehow if only to humiliate a human."

"Arena fight?"

"Mhh, the bi-monthly tournament to crown the strongest Goblin starts soon. Naturally, many of the participants train hard for it and often they can be found in the lesser arenas to prepare themselves. The keep has one of those and I suppose the trolls in the area don't hurt either."

Harry thought about it for a moment. Those Goblins didn't sound like people he liked to meet anytime soon and the thought of public humiliation didn't appeal to him either. Then again, neither did the prospect of getting mauled by a snow troll, the most vicious of its kind. Stronger, bigger and meaner, they posed indefinitely more of a threat than the one he had made an acquaintance with in his first year at Hogwarts.

He sighed tiredly. "Let's take the left path, Professor. At least the trolls don't have enough of a brain to recognize when I'm humiliated by them."

"Ah, Harry, my boy. You shouldn't sell yourself so short. I do believe that the trolls will prove to be an adequate challenge and, in my role as an educator, I think I will let you deal with them," Dumbledore answered. "It should be quite the adventure, don't you think?"

And an adventure it was, even if Harry spent a lot of his time cursing his lazy headmaster, who always trailed behind him with a serene look as if nothing was happening. Not a care in the world the man had...

He did see the advantage of it though. Creativity was schooled, reflexes were honed and spells polished and perfected while he fought tooth and nail against the large ugly brutes. One time he had cut it a bit close when he used the earth incantation to summon large roots. It definitely wasn't his brightest idea as it took nearly a minute before the roots finally managed to bury themselves through the rocks and snow and subdued the troll.

All in all, though, he was rather pleased with himself.

* * *

**China 04. August 1995**

"Watch out-" Dumbledore's panicked shout echoed over the snow covered mountain range. The wand was already tightly grasped in his hand, an electrifying blue crackling on its tip, but instead of fighting the new danger, an instinct he would normally adhere to, Harry listened to the unusual fright in Dumbledore's voice.

For the moment at least, he ignored the thundering noise in his head and decided that trusting the headmaster was probably a good idea. He flicked his wand two times, erecting a blue shield where he stood and dove toward a pile of a snow on his right. And he was glad that he did indeed heed the old man's advice...

In front of his incredulous eyes, the barrier that should have stopped most curses at point blank range was completely obliterated, leaving nothing but faint wisps of magic trailing through the air. He blinked once, still not quite believing what he had just witnessed. So much for the vaunted _Tegmat Aegis_, the shield that was said to stop nearly anything bar the unforgivables. Obviously, whatever attacked them fell into the category that wasn't covered by nearly anything.

Harry looked over to the headmaster and was startled to see a visible aura flaring around the older man who had an iron grip on his wand and watched their new enemy with narrowed eyes. He too directed his attention to the being, searching his mind for curses that might help against the surreal thing in front of them. He noticed that it got colder and colder the longer they were in its presence - an ability not unlike that of a Dementor. This monster, however, wasn't one, he was quite sure of it. Nonetheless, anything that had abilities similar to those of a soul sucking abomination was nothing to be taken lightly.

"Professor?" Harry asked, his eyes never leaving the enemy. Wherever it came from, it had the power to make Dumbledore uneasy and that in itself was never a good thing.

"An Ice Wraith, Harry. A being of the ancient world, but thought to be extinct," Dumbledore answered, his wand pointed at the creature. "Although it seems as if the authors of the old manuscripts had a different understanding of the word extinct as we have today."

"Ice Wraith, huh? Well, the solution is fairly easy I think. _Incendio_!"

A stream of fire burst forth from his wand and splashed against the golem like creature of ice. Unfortunately, splashing was all it did, not even leaving a single scratch that would have vindicated Harry's theory.

"An admirable idea, my boy. Though I fear that you have only managed to annoy it," Dumbledore looked over to him and his expression varied between concern and something else that he couldn't quite describe. "Please stand back, Harry. You have learned much, but there a things you are not yet ready to face."

"But-"

"No, please do as I say. I ask this not as your headmaster, but as your friend. I can't fight if I have to worry about your safety."

The protest died on his lips and he had to jump away quickly, when another beam of white light rushed in his direction. The Ice Wraith, it seemed, had enough of their idle chatter and decided to intervene. Harry backed up a few feet more and clutched his wand like a life line. Staying out of the fight would prove difficult, he knew, as the noise in his head still hadn't receded and the drums of war hammered louder with each step he took backward.

"Thank you," he heard the faint whisper of the headmaster and watched helplessly as the first spells were cast.

Dumbledore sidestepped the with bolt that was shot at him and the explosion that followed as it struck the mountains behind him nearly threw Harry of his feet. Two lances of ice flew through the air and were banished hard enough into the rocks that small spiderwebs went out from their points of impact. Just what the hell had he gotten himself into, when he agreed to accompany the headmaster on his travels?

The older man's wand swished through the air and he transfigured pebbles into very familiar looking stone warriors. Three of them, bigger than his single one had been, without incantation, without proper wand movement... He had thought that the gap between himself and powerful wizards like Dumbledore and Voldemort had shortened somewhat, that he would only need a little more time to bridge it entirely. And obviously he was proven wrong on every account right now. Then again, Dumbledore was a master of transfiguration just as Voldemort was a master of the dark arts. Maybe he just needed to find his own niche to rival them and their usage in their respective fields.

It was a thought for another time.

Another explosion rocked the area, two of the mighty guardians already having been reduced to debris and the noise of a third one was replaced by a metallic sound, as if someone had hit a gong. Dumbledore's hastily erected barrier had crumbled as soon as the magic hit, but once again, the headmaster was left without a scratch.

A part of Harry – he might even call it his Slytherin side – watched the proceeding with critical eyes. It was detached from his worry for the headmaster and completely focused on the practical aspects of the battle he was watching. Many ignorant wizards would call it the burden of age when Dumbledore's shield came crashing down, they would delude themselves by thinking that the headmaster was finally starting to show weakness after more than a century of being at the top in terms of magical prowess.

Harry, though, knew better. True, the shield crumbled under the onslaught, but it didn't escape him that Dumbledore had seemingly no injuries afterward. No, the answer was something else, something much more frightening and the sheep of Britain would wet themselves if they ever recognized what Harry had just seen.

The headmaster didn't become weaker with old age, but stronger. But that wasn't correctly formulated either. The man's magic had probably lessened a bit over the decades, but what he gained in that time was, in Harry's opinion, even more valuable than the lost amount of magic. The answer was simple, so simple in fact that it probably escaped the majority of wizards and witches in the UK.

Experience. Over a century of it at Dumbledore's fingertips and there weren't many people that could say the same. Oh, there were other people in that age range, of course, but what use were hundred years of knowledge and experience in household charms when pitted against the decades that the headmaster had spent in wars all over the world?

Dumbledore had told him of the common misconception that many harbored. The belief that he had only been an active fighter during the wars with Grindelwald and Voldemort. And only a few knew that he too was once a Battle Mage, that he spent years running from country to country, stopping dark uprisings and battling in many magical wars, always fighting for what he believed to be right.

And it was with a startling clarity that Harry realized what it meant. The shield hadn't failed, hadn't crumbled because the magic crashing against it had overpowered Dumbledore. No, the shield faded because the headmaster hadn't put one ounce of magic more into it than was necessary to stay safe.

Not one ounce of magic was wasted. _Not one measly bit._

Three new warriors joined the fray, once again transfigured silently, and Harry's mind boggled at the concept of maintaining such an amount of transfiguration and charms. And that for seemingly no other reason, but to occupy the creature. The guardians were shattered left and right, but it gave Dumbledore the time to pursue other venues of attack.

One warrior was completely obliterated by a streak of light, another was nailed to the rocks next to Harry – by dozens of ice spears. He shuddered to think that this could have been him. Torrents of fire and arcs of lightning escaped the headmaster's wand, once again accomplishing nothing. The cold had become biting over the last few seconds and he barely noticed that the Wraith seemed to inhale an unholy amount of air, not even stopping to bat away the many guardians around it.

It was also the first time since the fight had started that he heard Dumbledore's voice.

"Anchor yourself, Harry!" The man shouted frantically, but Harry's confusion must have shown. "Transfigure your boots into slabs of stone and erect the hardest shield you can manage!"

He didn't understand the commands, but that wasn't important at the moment. Not much existed in this world that could make the headmaster panic like this. Harry flicked his wand and instantly his brown dragon hide boots changed into ridiculously big chunks of stone, making it impossible for him to move.

"_Thorax Dures!_"

All his magical power was funneled into the shield that quickly took on a silvery sheen. Hopefully it would be able to withstand whatever had frightened the headmaster to such a degree. He looked over to Dumbledore and saw that the man had done the same to his feet, but chose another shield. A shield he didn't recognize, so it was probably very old, or very powerful – or both.

Seconds went by and the strain of holding the Thorax shield upright became worrying, especially because nothing seemed to happen after all. In retrospection he should have known that the headmaster wouldn't have made such a fuss if there wasn't any danger. And by Merlin, he was glad that he had followed instructions and transfigured his boots.

The Ice Wraith exhaled and what followed was something Harry wouldn't ever forgot for as long as he remained on the mortal coil. The howling wind started to pick up instantly, changing into a raging hailstorm of rocks, snow and ice.

At first the slabs of rock seemed excessive to him, but then he felt it. The wind kicked up into another gear and soon he felt as if he could be blown away at any moment despite the heavy weight on his legs that, in theory, should have been enough to root him to the spot. Debris crashed against his battered shield and with each new chunk of ice that nearly penetrated the Thorax's magic his anxiety grew.

His detached side still analyzed everything, but the knowledge that the hailstorm was definitely augmented by an incredible amount of magic did nothing to assuage his fear. And damned he was for thinking that he had already overcome this pesky emotion called fear a long time ago. Being so close to what could be a cruel death somewhere deep into the mountains put things, oddly enough, into perspective.

The storm finally receded and Harry fell to the ground when the strain on his shield suddenly vanished. Well-concept be damned, holding up such a complex defense was taxing even if every bit of his internal magic was utilized and none was wasted. He grimaced when he saw that the headmaster looked a lot better than him. Damned old man and his powerful and ancient magicks.

"Good work, Harry. Now, I'd be grateful if you wouldn't mention my next spell to anyone," Dumbledore said and wove his wand through the air before gripping it with both hands and pointing it directly at the Wraith.

"_Fiendfyre!_"

It was the first spoken spell from Dumbledore and while the torrential waves of fire were clashing with the Ice Wraith, Harry also knew that it was the one spell that pained the headmaster more than any other. According to the man, he had lost his owl due to Grindelwalds _fiendfyre_ before it became Fawkes the phoenix.

Beads of sweat trailed down Dumbledore's bushy white brows that sometimes made him look like an old owl. The gnarly hands were white with the force he used to control the fyre and Harry knew that Dumbledore would have to end the spell soon, lest he would be consumed by it himself.

The headmaster yanked his wand away, ending the spell, and both watched in anticipation as the fire slowly vanished. What they didn't expect, however, was for the Wraith to have survived the onslaught. It was damaged alright, some of its parts were molten beyond recognition, but it wasn't dead. And if there was one general consensus in the wizarding world, it was that everything stayed down after a healthy dose of _fiendfyre_.

"Not even the devil's fire worked..." he heard Dumbledore mutter a few feet away from him. He wanted to get up an help the man, the drums of war having started to thunder once again, but a quick _banisher_ sent him flying into another pile of snow further away.

"Stay put, Harry. I've got one last idea and if that doesn't work than we call Fawkes and Hedwig, and retreat in all haste."

The fight picked up again and the headmaster didn't stray from his original strategy, quickly transfiguring more guardians to replace those that had been destroyed during the deathly hailstorm – all of them. This time though, the Ice Wraith seemed to be more than just annoyed, more like mad because of its current condition and its attacks grew in strength and amount, forcing the headmaster to apparate away from the deadly beams of light.

In a short lull during the fight, which the Wraith used to destroy several warriors, the headmaster apparated to a heightened position and pointed his wand directly toward the sky. The incantation that followed was vaguely familiar and Harry knew that whatever the headmaster intended to do, it wouldn't be pretty.

"_Father of Fire, God of the Flames, I beseech thee, grant me thy power. Let them, thy enemies be burned to ash under thy fiery gaze_," Dumbledore closed his eyes, the wand still pointed at the sky. "_Pugnus ad Patris - Fulgor Ardeo!_"

He slashed his wand downward until it pointed at the Wraith, but nothing happened. And for a short moment Harry entertained the thought that maybe the headmaster had botched up the spell. Then again, he never took Latin classes and didn't know what _Fulgor Ardeo_ meant.

Soon he noticed a whistling sound that grew louder and louder with each second that went by, until it became a screeching that made him wish to be deaf already. Too late did he noticed its fall from the sky and he had only a lonely second to admire the fiery boulder before it smashed into the Wraith. The resulting explosion blasted him and his rock slab boots into another pile of snow.

It must have been the third or fourth pile of snow he had landed in during the last fifteen minutes. He struggled to get up and observed the results in wonderment, the small red part in his eyes gleaming eerily.

Where the nearly unbeatable Ice Wraith had stood, was now a crater of smoldering, molten rock. The only place in the vicinity without any snow.

* * *

**China 05. August 1995**

They walked alongside the small path when they came upon a most curious sight. Well, the headmaster might have known what to expect if the twinkle in his eyes was any indication, but Harry was completely flabbergasted.

What the...

"Dumbledore you infernal sack of bones and shit!" came the war cry from a small man that looked to be older than dirt. What really confused Harry though, was that the man was riding on a snow troll which seemed rather docile despite its menacing height.

"Xu, a pleasure as always," replied the headmaster with outstretched arm, wand in hand.

"_Imperio!_ Dance little Dumbledore, dance!"

Harry's eyes widened and he instantly pulled his wand out of his robes. If the little dwarf started to throw unforgivables around like candy, then Harry would be ready – lest a _Crucio_ or an _Avada_ made its way to him.

The headmaster shrugged of the _Imperio_ and sidestepped two dark streaks of light that, while not being unforgivables, looked quite dark in their nature. Some curses were exchanged and both neared each other, until Dumbledore stood directly in front of the troll and the small man jumped off of its back. The friendly embrace that followed threw Harry for a loop and he blinked a few times. No, contemplating these events would only lead to unnecessary headaches.

"Xu, meet my apprentice, Harry Potter." Dumbledore introduced him.

The small man with more wrinkles than his head had hairs looked at him and his penetrating gaze was more than just uncomfortable. Somehow, Harry felt rather abused just by being looked at.

"Feh, bone of the father, flesh of the servant and blood of the foe. Dark wizards these days have no imagination," the man called Xu jumped back onto his snow troll and rode off, his cry echoing through the mountains. "Follow me! My cave is much better than this place!"

Harry was rather unsure about the little man, but in the end he resigned himself to his fate. The headmaster was already trailing serenely behind the troll as if he had not just seen something completely surreal.

Then again, the dwarf could be Dumbledore's grandfather for all he knew.

* * *

AN: Well that's it, another chapter finished. New magicks:

Tegmat Aegis - Shield that is usually enough to stop most curses bar the unforgivables. Takes a lot to maintain though, but in return only the darkest hexes get through.

Thorax Dures - Shield that defends against physical objects. The harder the impact, the more magic it takes. Also takes a lot to maintain when nothing hits it.

Pugnus ad Patris, Fulgor Ardeo - (My Latin is non-existent, so sue me...) Fist of the Father, Burning Meteor (or something like that) I think it has a nice ring to it.


	17. Chapter 16

And here we go! I think this time the chapter has a nice size and is sufficiently long. Enjoy!

* * *

**Magicks of the Arcane**

Chapter XVI

* * *

**China 05. August 1995**

They followed the dwarf and his troll through the mountains; walking along narrow trails, steep paths and over creaky bridges that threatened to break down at any second. It begged the question how the heavy snow troll even managed to cross them and, in fact, it was the question that Harry pondered over while observing the landscape.

Had the headmaster been willing to answer some of his question then, _perhaps_, he could have dedicated his mind to something else - something more important - but as it stood, Dumbledore remained silent. And he couldn't even fault the man for that as Xu, the insane little man, still randomly threw the _Imperio_ at him.

The headmaster wasn't the only one to be hit by it however and even for Harry, who had thrown off Crouch Junior's _Imperio_ with ease, it took immense concentration and willpower not to surrender to the dwarf's Unforgivable. Harry wondered whether he should laugh or cry about Xu's mental commands as they ranged from something as simple as dancing ballet to incredibly dangerous undertakings like jumping off the former mentioned creaky bridges.

In the end, he decided to stare ahead with glazed eyes and thought about the snow troll.

* * *

"Here we are," said the dwarf and jumped away from the troll with agility that belied his age. "Come, come. See that casket over there? Want to touch it, eh? Do you, lad? Go on, go on!"

Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to touch it - he hadn't even noticed it before Xu brought his attention to it – but now, after seeing it, he couldn't help himself. With measured steps he walked over to the desk and reached out to it, nearly brushing it with his fingers. Something clicked in his mind and he jolted back. The scene from the bazaar of Izmir went through his head.

"No, I don't think I want to touch it," Harry said through clenched teeth.

"Are you sure, lad? Riches, treasures and ancient knowledge awaits he who manages to open the casket," Xu replied with a sly grin.

"Quite sure."

Dumbledore walked over to the dwarf and collected a few Galleons. "I told you he wouldn't fall for it," he said.

"Pff, as if this bet wasn't rigged you thrice cursed pile of pubic hair."

"No need to be crude, Xu."

"Crude? Moi? I think not, you son of a troll whore!"

On and on it went, the banter between the two ancient relics steadily increasing, and Harry felt the twitch in his eye. _Curses_, he thought he had managed to subdue it after Turkey...

The cave, as far as he was able to see it, was rather impressive if slightly scary. Dumbledore had said that Xu was knowledgeable in the darker aspects of magic and after taking a look at the cave's decor, he could definitely see that. Black rugs, ominous lights, a few runic circles and those were just the few things that hinted toward something magical, not dark but lending the place a sense of secrecy. What disturbed him though, were the various dark artifacts that could be found nearly everywhere.

After their stint in the tomb his senses toward magic increased a lot and now, standing in the middle of the cave, he could taste and smell the ancient, but dark magicks in the air. The place was steeped deeply in a similar kind of magic that had also reigned in the _Chamber of Secrets_. Ancient, _yes_, powerful, _very much so_, but dark in its roots and oppressive in its very nature.

He looked to the right - ignoring the severed heads of various animals that lined the wall – and recoiled. There, sweeping the dust away with a broom as if nothing was wrong, stood a skeleton and cleaned a part of the cave.

His panicked eyes searched for the headmaster and he too looked at the undead with slight apprehension.

"Tell me, old friend, who exactly is the charming fellow there?"

"That? That's Xu Senior. Never liked the piece of shit anyway! Serves him right that the roles are reversed now," answered the dwarf.

In a flash Dumbledore had his wand out and a visible aura flared around him. His booming voice penetrated every bit of the cave, and Harry even felt a faint rumbling. "Your oaths! What of your oaths? Answer me!"

Xu just cackled madly. "Ah, don't get your knickers in a twist, _Bumblebee_. A little Necromancy is good for the soul."

"Your oaths!" Dumbledore's voice had taken on a frightening quality by now and his wand crackled with energy. Harry felt the hairs on his neck rising with that much magic in the air.

"Still in place, _unfortunately_," the dwarf mumbled. "This skeleton is older than you. Created it when you weren't even born, so my oath isn't compromised. Dug that rotten piece of flesh out of his grave the second everyone had left the graveyard."

"Prove it," was the single authoritative command of Dumbledore.

Xu looked disgruntled. "Fine, fine. What's one more oath, eh? I, Xu the former greatest dark lord of the eastern hemisphere, swear on my magic that my oaths to one Albus-too-many-names-Dumbledore are still in place and working."

Harry's eyes widened with the proclamation of Xu and instantly his own wand jumped into his hand. A second dark lord in his life? Couldn't he ever get a break?

"That was a rather weird oath, Professor," Harry said suspiciously.

Dumbledore sighed in relief and lowered his wand. "The wording may be _interesting_, but magic is about intent and especially for oaths doesn't have to be too precise. Magic will recognize who was meant and if he had lied, then he would be a Squib right now. You can pocket your wand, Harry."

"What was that all about anyway? A dark lord?"

The headmaster watched as Xu made his way over to a lectern, sulking about the unfairness of it all, and conjured himself and Harry chairs. The last Potter was still a bit uncomfortable in the presence of a _former_ dark lord and sat rather stiffly, but after a few drags on his trusted pipe he started to relax a bit.

"In Nineteen-twenty-one there were whispers about a dark lord that held China, Japan and Korea in a strangle hold, even making his way toward large parts of eastern Russia. It were only whispers, because his control over these countries was rumored to be great enough to quell any kind of rebellion. And, naturally, the Confederation started to investigate those rumors, soon getting solid facts."

Harry started to see where this was going, and he didn't like it. Not one bit. "So they send you? Were you even in the IWC at that point, Professor?"

"In the IWC? No, but in a guild that was under direct control of it. I told you about War Mages, Harry," he said. "They sent a contingent to liberate the countries, but you have to understand that a mission of such a scale was impossible out in the open. As a result we operated hidden and after two years we finally found a lead toward the dark lord, Xu."

"So you battled him?"

"Correct, but that is also the point where official reports of the IWC and reality start to differ. To the IWC and the world, Xu is dead. The only people who know that he's alive are located in this cave, my boy."

"Take these oaths away from me and I can change that quickly!" Harry jumped up into the air, the sudden whisper into his ear startling him.

"Xu, please refrain from scaring my apprentice."

"You're no fun, _Bumblebee_."

"As I was saying, we dueled. I won, he lost," Dumbledore threw a sly look at Xu. "But although I know that some people are beyond redemption, I was and still am a believer of second chances."

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. That was one of the few things he'd probably never agree on with his headmaster. They had some rather fierce debates about it over the last two months.

"Lying there in front of me, utterly broken and defeated," at this point Dumbledore gave Xu a wink and the dwarf wore a sullen look. "Well, to make a long story short. He begged me to spare him and swore oaths to the effect that he would never again try his luck at being a dark lord, forever to be restricted to the cave and these mountains."

"You have way too much fun retelling that story, you old sack of bones."

"It is merely the truth, Xu. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Stuff your truth. You sully my beautiful cave with your lightness! Tell me what you want and then leave," grumbled the dwarf.

"Very well," Dumbledore nodded. "Have you heard of the term horcrux?"

The dwarf whistled and smiled appreciatively. "Wow, haven't heard of those in ages. Rather nice stuff, I think. You know, I considered to make one myself, but found it to be too much of a hassle."

Dumbledore frowned and narrowed his eyes. "So you know of it. That is worrisome, but also quite handy considering the situation."

"Spit it out. What situation?"

"Harry here is a horcrux, or at least something similar. I don't know whether Tom managed to complete the ritual before he was banished, but the fact remains; something of his soul is stuck in Harry."

"So you want me to get it out of the boy?" he asked, an unholy glint in his eyes.

"Yes, you will be compensated of course."

Xu cackled again. "Compensated? Have you lost your mind? What use is money here? No, I'll do it for free this once."

"That's awfully altruistic of you," Dumbledore said suspiciously.

"Altruistic? I think you misunderstand my intentions, _Bumblebee_," the dwarf rubbed his hands together. "Working on a living horcrux. My, how _fascinating_. The study alone should prove to be quite exciting."

Harry had listened to the conversation with unveiled interest, but when they got to the part of letting the former dark lord experiment on him he nearly choked on his pipe.

* * *

**China 13. August 1995**

"I hope you know what you are doing, Xu," Dumbledore said and watched over the proceeding with a keen eye. "Should Harry come to any harm..."

"What will you do then, eh?" asked the dwarf mockingly as he painted the eighth circle of blood around Harry. "Think you scare me?"

Nothing of the usual kindness remained in the headmaster and two steely chips of blue stared the dwarf down. "Have you forgotten who bound you to this place? I can just as easily demand your life as I had granted it those many years ago."

"Rubbish. Don't get full of yourself, _Bumblebee_. You never were one for killing."

Xu would have spoken more, but the wand at his neck made him reconsider. Maybe, _just maybe_, Dumbledore had changed since the last time they met.

"It doesn't matter anyhow. I'm finished," Xu answered and rose from his kneeling position to observe his work.

Nine circles of ancient runes, a bizarre mixture of Egyptian, Chinese and Norse symbols, written in the blood of the _victim. _The unassuming book that would serve as future vessel for the horcrux positioned exactly on the seventh circle. The arithmetic calculations were precise, the runes a work of art. And in the middle of it all, at the epicenter of the blood ritual sat Harry Potter, looking frightened and wishing that he was anywhere but there.

"Is this really the _only_ way, Professor?" he asked.

Dumbledore looked sad as he nodded. "Unfortunately it is, my boy. There is another possibility, a theory of mine..."

"What? What is it?" Harry asked, desperate to find another solution.

"To let Voldemort hit you with another killing curse might rip the horcrux out of you. This is only speculation though, so it isn't safe. And even if it was I wouldn't let you do it."

Harry looked resigned and it was Xu who broke the uncomfortable silence. "Enough of these damned light emotions! I'll do it now and then you _will_ leave."

The dwarf didn't draw his wand and instead went over to a corner of his cave, coming back with a black staff. Black, engraved with red lines that resembled blood, and with various dark knick-knacks hanging from its tip – dark feathers, cursed teeth, the tail of a serpent...

Dumbledore stepped back and Xu hammered the end of his staff onto the first circle, the point where he had begun to draw it, days ago. Harsh sounding words left his mouth, but Harry didn't know what they meant, didn't want to know. His blood flashed in a deep green light,

And all Harry knew was darkness. Darkness and pain.

* * *

**China 16. August 1995**

The archaic ritual to transfer the _horcrux_ into another object was - as far as he understood it at least - rather anti climatic and uninteresting. Sure, it went deep into arcane arts he hadn't even a hope of recognizing and it would probably prove to be perfect for an academic discussion. Not to forget the light show that accompanied the procedure.

Still, for something that was supposed to remove the darkest and most vile magic from him, Harry felt rather disappointed. No great battles in his mind with Riddle, no strenuous quest to retain his sanity – just blackness, blackness and pain. One should never forget the pain which was, quite amazingly, the only thing up to par with the immense amount of preparation and calculation that had gone into the ritual.

_It was better this way_, Harry assumed quite frustrated with his own feelings of disappointment. Was he already so entranced by the wish for battle that he practically _lusted_ after a deadly fight with Voldemort?

Controlling his urges to fight had shot to the top of his _to-do_ list rather quickly after the last two months. Rushing headstrong into every battle without even once stopping to think brought obvious consequences with it after all.

_A thought for another time_, and Harry despised how large the pile of discarded thoughts had grown since the end of his fourth year. Events were happening so fast that he simply had no time to catch up with his musings and he spent the small amount of time that he had either learning, traveling or unconscious. The world was moving at a ferocious pace and somehow – despite his struggles – he found himself unable to catch up.

Soon, when he was once again back on British soil, he would take the time and sit down to ponder all the questions that for the moment remained stockpiled in his mind. And that without the use or any knowledge of Occlumency.

It was time he needed. Time to gather his thoughts, make plans, to train, to prepare for the upcoming storm... but, unfortunately, time was the only thing the headmaster couldn't grant him. His suggestion of using a time turner was shot down quickly as not even Dumbledore had managed to acquire one for himself without the ministry noticing. Well, calling it the ministry might be a bit farfetched as it was really the Department of Mystery that regulated them- and regulate them they did with vigor.

Every turn had to be written down in a special charmed journal, every use of it was recorded by the department and it had cost Dumbledore nearly all of his favors and goodwill among the department's members to overlook the disastrous use of it in his third year. Now they weren't willing to lend another one to anyone else but their own, not even to an exemplary student an with impeccable track record.

In all probability, Hermione Granger would get herself into her beloved _History of Hogwarts_ as the last student to ever have used a time turner. He was sure it would irk many future generations of Ravenclaws. Anyway, Sirius had been worth it, and he wouldn't change it even after knowing the consequences – a view that Dumbledore supported him in.

_No magical device - no matter its power - is worth a life_, had been his exact words if Harry remembered it correctly. Well, he agreed in the case of Sirius and he'd probably agree in the case of many others too, but he wouldn't hesitate for a heartbeat if it came to exchanging Voldemort against a time turner. Now that he thought about it, he was sure that he'd trade Malfoy too.

The subject of magical devices with the power to turn back the very essence of time however brought other problems with it. Aside from his obvious lack of time, of course.

The Department of Mystery. Who were they? Or rather, on which side were they? He couldn't care less about their names if he just knew whether they would stand with Riddle or with him when all the lines were drawn. And drawn they would be soon, of that he had no doubt.

Harry looked over to the cleaning skeleton and sighed in frustration. There were just too many possibilities and too few information. Members of the _DoM_ could be pathetically weak, could be insanely strong, could have already allied themselves with dark forces. It was a fourth side to the war, a side he had only recognized after the headmaster had volunteered some information about the time turner. He was sure that not before long there would be many more.

And the worst thing of all – even if the _DoM_ was neutral, which was the best he could really hope for, Voldemort already had an edge in that regard. Augustus Rookwood, inner circle member and currently vacationing in Azkaban, had been an Unspeakable. Who knew what manner of magic Riddle had learned from Rookwood? The man had access to the department for years and that, possibly, without any restrictions in clearance. If something like clearance actually existed in the _DoM_.

He stopped his absent minded staring at the skeleton and decided to gaze into the fireplace instead. Much more relaxing and less frightening – even if after over a century no rotten flesh remained on it and the bones were white and clean. Damned it, he should use the short reprieve he had to organize his thoughts and make plans.

The problem was that there were just too many angles to consider and each time he tried to think of possible solutions, other problems crept up.

Four sides to the war. The headmaster and himself, the ministry, the _DoM_ and Voldemort. And even _that_ was incredibly short-sighted, he knew. There were other magical races that had to be taken into account. Goblins for one, Veela – although they could also fall under the category of wizards and witches, different packs of Werewolves, even Merfolk, Centaurs, Vampires and Giants could play a potential role.

It was maddening and the lack of information did nothing but aid his headache. How large was the headmaster's side? Ten people, twenty people? More? Was it enough to combat Voldemort? And what kind of war were they even facing? Was it open battle with large numbers, or was it cloak and dagger business?

Too many questions with no answers forthcoming. Way too many.

He did the only thing he could and used the time to categorize everything he knew.

Goblins were a rather unfriendly race and lured by the shine of many Galleons their loyalty can easily be called into question. If one had their loyalty at all, that is. After hours of continuous search for bits and pieces about rare artifacts it was unavoidable to stumble about a fair bit on Goblin history and culture, so he would easily agree, when asked if he had a rudimentary understanding of the race – even if the rudimentary understanding might as well be considered a mastery among most wizards.

They had their upsides though. The warrior caste was fierce and everyone who had their allegiance, or at least their temporary help, was nearly untouchable. Well, not untouchable, but definitely insanely secure. A handy skill in magical architecture was also a part of their arsenal that would prove to be beneficial in a war.

But how would one go about gaining their good will? Many Galleons were one way, but it would only be a very shaky foundation of trust and he would have to compete with the likes of the Malfoys, the _Notts_ and many more rich nobles. And that in fiscal matters which were, simply put, beyond him. The mere thought of Nott made his blood boil. Harry was sure that if the blighter had enough gold to bribe his way out of Azkaban then it was nearly impossible to be victorious in this matter.

Ron's brother, Bill if he recalled it right, worked at Gringotts. Then again, he was sure that the headmaster had already considered this angle and what was a lone human able to do, to gain an alliance with a race that spanned over the whole globe?

He could only hope that they would remain neutral, and _that_ frustrated him to no end.

Giants and Vampires were a no-go altogether. Sure, they could send emissaries to secure their neutrality, but it probably wouldn't help. Those races were aligned to the dark through their very nature and even if a few examples of 'goodness' existed, they were very rare. The acute bigotry didn't help either.

Werewolves were a bit different in that regard as their alignment to darkness would only come about once a month and in every other aspect of their lives they were like wizards and witches. But the ministry, once again, made it impossible to earn much favor with them, and the only way for him was through Moony. Another point the headmaster had surely considered.

No, the only side he might, and that was a _very_ tentative might, be able to help with were Veelas. It begged the question of how high Fleur and her family were in their hierarchy and if they were even susceptible to his ideas. He would pen a letter as soon as possible, he decided.

"You seem preoccupied, Harry," Dumbledore's voice came from his left and he saw the man conjur himself a chair and sit down next to him. "What ails your mind like this?"

"The war," Harry answered with a sigh. Maybe it was good that the headmaster had interrupted his thoughts, before he attempted to sort through the cesspool that called itself politics among wizards. As far as he knew, each person in the Wizengamot and the ministry could be considered a side of its own.

"Ah, not a nice topic by any means, but, unfortunately, a necessary one."

"It hasn't even really started and I'm tired of it already."

Dumbledore chuckled, but it was a sad sound. "That too is a feeling I'm more used to than I should be," he said. "For now, though, we should concentrate on the rest of our journey. We can make the appropriate plans back in Britain and I fear we have sorely overstayed our welcome here. Xu is straining his oaths with each additional second we remain and our 'lightness' _perverts_ the pure magic in his cave."

"How does that work anyway, Professor? His oaths should bind him, but he still casts the Imperio every chance he gets."

"That is a mistake of mine, I'm afraid," answered Dumbledore. "The wording of the oaths is a bit looser than it probably should be. Ask yourself, Harry, what harm is there if he forces you to jump a few times? If the force of his will is enough then you would do what he says until it starts to be harmful. Any further and he'd lose his magic."

"Still, it's awfully sketchy."

"True, but Xu is, above all else, a pragmatic individual. He won't do anything that would cost him his magic. That, and that alone is the only reason why he is still alive," the headmaster explained. "As long as he has no potential to harm someone, I see no need to take his life."

"Better make ourselves scarce then, Sir. No offense, but I'm not exactly comfortable around a former dark lord."

"Neither am I, Harry. Neither am I. But good of you to bring this up as it pertains directly to my next question," Dumbledore replied chipper. He looked way too happy concerning their current circumstances. "You see, my boy, the horcrux in you is no more - I already destroyed the book we transferred it to – but the choice of where we go next is up to you."

Harry arched his eyebrows sceptically. That wasn't exactly what he had expected. "My choice?"

"Exactly! I believe that you don't have many opportunities to make your own choices, so I thought this might be a nice sentiment."

"I don't need pity, Professor."

"This is not pity, Harry," Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "I told you that I would help you to the best of my abilities. Please let me do so if I try. Not that it is much of a choice anyway with only two options, but it is the best I can do."

"Well then, what is it?" Harry asked resigned.

"We can either make our way to England right now and start to plan. The events of the last weeks have taken much more time than anticipated and we're too far behind in our schedule to visit every country I originally planned for."

"Or?"

"Or we can visit one last country that might prove to be something akin to a vacation. Something to relax a bit. And before you ask, yes even if relaxing it would be beneficial to the war effort," Dumbledore told him and it was clear which one of the two the headmaster preferred.

Still, for the first time in what seems like ages, the choice was his to make. If they went back to England, then he had some time to prepare himself and train some more, but he was also quite stressed and it wasn't guaranteed that he would even manage to get something done. He'd see Sirius and Moony though and that was a serious bonus in his book. Then again, the vacation probably wouldn't last long with his luck, so what were a few more days?

_Ah, what the hell,_ he thought. In for the Knut, in for the Galleon.

"Vacation, Sir," Harry answered at last.

"Wonderful, my boy! I suggest you get ready then," Dumbledore said and flicked his wand to an old fork. "The Portkey will activate in about fifteen minutes. The place is beautiful, that much I can promise you."

* * *

**Caribbean 16. August 1995**

White sand shifted underneath his boots, the swooshing noise of waves was audible behind him, and he felt a gentle breeze caressing his cloak, making it sway slightly. He turned around, observing the turquoise colored water and noticed the many palm trees surrounding them.

_Yes_, Harry thought. _The headmaster definitely hadn't exaggerated the beauty of their destination._

He knelt down and grabbed a fistful of sand. _Warm to the touch_. And, for the first time in many days, he grinned in childish exuberance. No dark lords to fight, neither current nor former, no dangerous monster to slay – it looked like a vacation. A refreshing thought if there ever was one, and Harry swore to himself that he would make the most of it.

"Beautiful, is it not, my boy?"

"Yes," Harry answered, still somewhat speechless.

"Let me transfigure our robes into something more appropriate," Dumbledore said and swished his wand. The heavy brown cloaks that were essential to survive in the harsh mountains of China vanished, and the equally thick clothes of fur beneath them changed. "There, that should work."

Harry looked over to the headmaster who had chosen a rather colorful shirt for himself and all of his mental fortitude was spent to keep his eye from twitching. It was an ugly habit he had developed during their journey, a habit he intended to shed as soon as possible. As obnoxious as the colors were, he would have accepted the headmaster's outfit for himself. Much easier in fact than what he currently wore.

It didn't matter though, he knew. Dumbledore could be quite stubborn about things like that and he doubted the transfiguration would be reversed or improved. He quickly tugged his large white shirt into his freshly acquired leather pants and stepped up the headmaster who watched him with dry amusement.

At least he still wore his boots.

"Smile, Harry. One could think you don't like your new wardrobe," Dumbledore said and his eyes glittered.

"Do you really want an answer to that, Professor?"

"Don't be so sour, my boy. It doesn't suit you. Indeed, I believe that many young witches will find you quite fetching."

Harry doubted that, but who was he to argue? "What now, Sir?"

"Now, I welcome you to the Cayman Islands and we make our way to George Town. It shouldn't be far from here," Dumbledore answered and started to walk away from the beach. Harry followed him, still trying to get accustomed to the _unique_ feeling of his black leather pants.

They quickly found a path to walk on and Dumbledore disillusioned them. It wouldn't do for the few passing cars and muggles to see them.

"I'm sure you wonder why we are here," the headmaster said and interrupted the companionable silence between them when they neared the town and saw the silhouette of a large church tower.

"It crossed my mind, Professor. Not that I don't like it here," Harry answered, distracted by two colorful birds that seemed to dance around each other. He had read about something like that back in primary school. It was called a mating dance and now that he saw it, he had to agree with the general consent that it looked quite ridiculous.

Dumbledore chuckled and he too observed the nearly ritualistic dance. "I do know a few people here in the Caribbean, but recruiting isn't our purpose this time. The son of a good friend of mine is a local, a rich one at that, and has invited me several times over the last few decades to take part in one of his parties."

"We're going clubbing?" Harry asked incredulous.

Dumbledore looked strangely at him for a second until his face cleared in understanding and he let out a chortle. "Clubbing youngsters call it these days? I think not, dear boy. No, the party I speak of is a bit more sophisticated than that. I'm talking about ballrooms, glamor and high society."

"Ballrooms? Like the Yule ball?"

"Exactly, like the Yuletide ball," Dumbledore answered. "Miguel has often tried to talk me into attending, but I just couldn't find the time for it. It should prove to be amusing, I'm sure."

"So, we'll be going stag?"

"That doesn't matter much, Harry. The social functions here are definitely less formal than back in Britain. We will attend, I will speak to some old friends and you will dance and have fun. Nothing more, nothing less."

Harry wasn't really convinced. If this was anything like he imagined it to be, then his chances at fun were pretty low with all those old geezers. It sounded like the glamorous version of a bridge club for old people in the headmaster's age range.

But, once again, Dumbledore showed his omniscience. "Don't worry, my boy. Many will bring their children as well as their grand-children along. I'm sure that there will be quite a lot of beautiful girls among them."

_The headmaster really knew what buttons he had to push_, Harry thought. "Do we need dress robes?"

"No, only a light coat. Nothing too heavy. I will conjur them for us when needed. Remember, this will be a wizarding event, and like their brothers in England, the wizards here haven't had much advancement in fashion. You'll be quite alright."

"If you say so..."

"I know so, Harry," Dumbledore replied. "Anyway, tomorrow you will have time to relax a bit and the day afterward we will begin our last quest of this journey."

"Mhh, and what would that be?"

"Telling you now would spoil the surprise, wouldn't it? You will see soon enough, my boy."

* * *

"The pants are too tight-"

"They fit just perfectly, dear!"

"The shirt is too loose-"

"It looks simply marvelous!"

"But-"

"Oh deary, the embroidery is really well done. Befitting of your social status I should say."

"At least I have my boots."

"Dreadful things! But they will have to do."

"What about-"

"Your hair is beautiful!"

Harry resisted the urge to take a brick and smash it into the infernal mirror. The enchanted thing was one of the less flattering innovations of wizard kind. He looked himself over, ignoring the useless sentences of the mirror, and wondered when he had become a member of the aristocracy. To have his hair pulled back into a tail like he remembered Lucius Malfoy wore it was a foreign feeling and he hadn't even noticed that it had gotten so long over the months.

He scratched his cheek. Another thing he hadn't noticed before – black scruff that had been quickly done away with. The room he resided in wasn't too big, but it was richly decorated, the bed felt like heaven and he got his own balcony. It was pure luxury as far as he was concerned.

Earlier in the day they had arrived in George Town, a beautiful city by any means, and the headmaster had led them to one of the many Victorian palaces that didn't even remotely look out of place amongst all the others. He had felt it soon enough though, as many wards of different nature washed over him. No, muggles would never venture close to this place on their own. The compulsion wards were quite strong.

Miguel, the son of Dumbledore's friend who looked as old as McGonagall had greeted them at the doors and had quickly led them into the incredible mansion. Marble as far as the eye could see, old and valuable portraits from great persons throughout the ages lining the walls – he even saw one or two of Hogwart's headmasters – finely chiseled effigies of Miguel's great grand-parents who had built the mansion in the first place, chandeliers made of gold and crystal, and so much more. _Heck_, they even had an indoor fountain...

"_Tempus_," he whispered, not bothering with silent magic.

It was one hour before midnight. Harry sighed and gave himself a last look in the mirror. He should probably go now, before the headmaster resorted to bringing him in by force. At least Dumbledore had told him that they had nothing like an announcer. The party should be in full swing by now, and it should be manageable to slip in unnoticed.

Before he opened the door, however, he tried to clear his mind a last time of all unnecessary thoughts. He had to be at his best this evening. It was an absolute no-go to blunder around like a fool, like Cornelius Fudge would probably have done.

The door closed behind him with a soft click and he made his way down the corridor, already seeing some people mingle around. The party seemed to stretch over the whole property. Nonetheless, he could already feel his frustration grow after only ten seconds out of his room.

_Relaxation my ass_, he thought and suppressed a snort. The few people that he had walked by didn't even bother to acknowledge him, holding their noses high into the air. One or two old ladies gave him an appreciative once over that sent shivers down his spine and the hushed giggles he heard weren't helping either.

There were only two options as far as he was concerned. Either the evening started to shape up, or the headmaster would be in for one hell of a duel tomorrow. The old man might have more knowledge under his belt, but Harry had taken notes on the spell that destroyed the ice wraith, and if it worked on a being of such magnitude, than it would work on Dumbledore too.

He walked nonchalant through the large double doors of the ball room and was momentarily blinded by all the gaudiness. Everyone wore only the finest clothes – which looked good on some, on others it didn't – and all of them wore pieces of jewelry that signified their status among society – be it rings, chains, necklaces, or something else.

Inwardly, he groaned. He felt really out of place with his small, never melting ice shard as earring, courtesy of the wraith. At least his jewelry was enchanted to detect most poisons in his food and drinks. He grabbed a glass of wine from the tablet of a house elf and held it exactly like Elize had taught him, gracing the elf with a small smile. The poor creature looked completely flabbergasted.

_Her lessons really would prove their worth this evening_, he thought as he walked around with measured steps, looking for the headmaster.

The search proved to be futile and he resigned himself to leaning against one of the many marble pillars, observing the room for anything of interest.

A group of old men, probably the age of professor Flitwick, stood around a single table, conversing in hushed whispers. He couldn't hear what they said, and didn't bother with it any further. To his right, he watched a scene that made him smile. A middle aged witch introduced her young daughter to the son of another wizard. They couldn't have been older than seven, or eight years. His smile vanished, however, when he noticed the woman's greedy eyes settle on the lordship ring of the man.

_That_, he thought despicably, _were blood politics at its best_. Already, he could see the marriage contract forming and it made him furious to see two children callously used as bargain chips. They didn't even know what was going on, happy to have found a playmate their age to pass the time.

He couldn't watch it any longer, lest his anger boiled over and he made a scene. His narrowed eyes, the green glacier chips of fury alone were out of place in this setting that should be all about laughing, dancing and having fun.

His gaze trailed over to the many dancing couples who enjoyed the music played by charmed instruments. A woman that looked vaguely familiar danced with a rather portly man and he had to hold back a whistle in appreciation.

_It was rather bizarre_, he thought.

The man was sweating heavily and didn't look handsome by any means, and yet he danced with a woman of ethereal beauty. Long, slender legs, black locks cascading down her back, ruby red lips and eyes that, while not as green as his own, were nonetheless captivating. A light sheen of sweat made her cleavage all the more alluring and her well tanned skin only added to the exotic look.

Nevertheless, the woman looked familiar and it disturbed him that he couldn't place her. She must have felt him watching her, causing her to look up, and her eyes widened – barely perceptible – in recognition. The dance continued, but he felt her observing him just as intently as he had done seconds ago.

He sipped from his glass, noticing that she had started to lead, position herself and her dance partner so that she had a good view of him. Not that he showed it, but the stare made him uncomfortable. Just _who_ was this woman?

The music faded out slowly and before the instruments could start up another song, the woman excused himself from her partner and made his way over to him. It was a hard exercise in control not to stare as the tight green dress stretched with each step. She could definitely work part-time as a seductress, that much was clear to him.

"Mr. Potter, a pleasure. How rare though to see you at such an event," the dark skinned beauty said, and like he had been drilled to do by Elize, he bowed a bit and brushed his lips over her knuckles.

"The pleasure is mine, Lady..."

"Zabini, Abilene Zabini. I believe you know my son. He attends Hogwarts," she said, and despite his attempts to control himself, his eyes narrowed. Memories of the dark night when he had lost Hedwig flew through his mind.

That must be why she looked familiar. Blaise, despite being a boy, had a rather effeminate look and his facial structure resembled that of his mother quite closely. He remembered something else though. Something about her and six husbands of which five had died rather mysteriously. If she was indeed a black widow, then he could definitely see why men fell over themselves to marry her. There was no question that she was an incredible beauty, even surpassing Fleur in looks. And that meant something.

"Yes, I'm familiar with your _son_, Lady Zabini," he answered and straightened himself to look her in the eyes, and not somewhere else below.

He couldn't decide whether she looked put out, or sad as she replied. "Oh, I hear some animosity. I should really talk with my son and husband soon."

Harry arched an eyebrow in a manner he had subtly copied from the greasy bat of the dungeons, and Lady Zabini explained. "I was oversea for some business, Mr. Potter," she said. "I haven't had much contact with them in the last year."

Well, Harry didn't really believe that, but if it was indeed true then he hoped that Blaise would get a howler soon. Hope was, after all, the last bastion against despair. Nonetheless, it never hurt to be courteous to a beautiful woman and he was quite able to separate Blaise from his mother in his mind.

"Do call me Harry, Lady Zabini. Blaise and I aren't on the most amiable terms, but that is a result of _house separation_, nothing more," he said. It wasn't necessarily the truth, but it had to do. He didn't dare to utter anything about Malfoy or _Nott_. Who knew what kind of alliances were in place between the families of Slytherin.

"Very well then, Harry. But I insist that you call me Abilene. It is only right," she said, her eyes glinting temptingly in the dimly lit room.

"Of course, Abilene," he replied and took another glass of wine from a house elf. This time he didn't smile at it, didn't nod in acknowledgment. No, he couldn't allow himself to show any weakness in front of this woman that might as well be a shark for all the danger she presented.

If it came to dancing, and he was sure that would be the next point on her agenda, he had to be cautious and extremely wary, lest he would become ensnared in her web of seduction and temptation. She could, potentially, truly be unaware of the happenings in Britain, only wanting a friendly chat and a dance, but he wouldn't let such nice thoughts lower his defenses.

He hadn't survived until now by being careless. Well, that wasn't really true, but at least it applied to his fourth year and the following months.

So, after some whimsical chatting and draining his glass, he offered her his arm and led her to the dance floor, mindful of each step and each consequence his moves would have. _Elize would be proud_, he surmised.

They danced, first slow, then a bit faster, then slow again; and each second was a constant battle between his primal urges to ravage the incredible hot woman in front of him and being extremely cautious.

He whirled her around, and she came to rest in his arms once again. "You are an incredible dancer, Harry. I wouldn't have thought it possible," her enticing lips said, but the smoldering green eyes spoke differently.

Harry controlled his blush, willing it not to show on his face or anywhere it could be noticed, and answered in an equal fashion, his voice sounding deeper than it had ever done before. "Hard work, Abilene. Hard work and the opportunity to dance with beautiful women."

"Quite the charmer, Harry," she answered, twirling around him. Her dress hugging her body perfectly, her cleavage inviting him to rest his head on her breasts. But no, he couldn't allow himself to do the same as he had done with Fleur. Those were other circumstances and to do so here would be a fatal faux-pas.

It was _utterly_ maddening.

He knew that she observed him, observed his behavior. How could she not? And after the fifth song, she finally excused herself and he was, once again, left to his own devices. He breathed a sigh of relief. This dance, which would have been enjoyable with anyone else, had been more hard work than he would have thought possible.

She was a shark indeed.

Another glass of wine found itself in his hands as he finally spied the headmaster who stood among a group of old men and argued fiercely about some transfiguration theories. Dumbledore bowed out of the discussion and soon both found themselves in the shadows of an alcove, observing the party.

"I hope you had fun so far, my boy."

Harry groaned. "Fun? It is exhausting, more so than battling through old tombs and encountering wraiths."

"Most things that we consider fun are exhausting," Dumbledore replied with an amused glint in his eyes and Harry knew instantly what the lecherous old man talked about. It seemed as if the headmaster had one or two – or more – glasses of wine himself. It wasn't usual for him to speak about such things so openly.

"Definitely, but I just danced with Abilene Zabini and I can't decide if I found it pleasurable, or frightening."

"Truly? Lady Zabini?" the headmaster asked curiously. "Well, I heard that she was in the area conducting business, but I wouldn't have thought you would meet her," he said. "What is your opinion of her?"

"She's dangerous. Insanely so," Harry answered. "Is she allied with-"

"Who knows," Dumbledore interrupted him with a sharp glance. "But you are right. She is a dangerous witch in more than one aspect of life."

"I feel completely out of my depth. Some of those people look at me as if I wasn't worth the floor they stand on," Harry said frustrated. The last time people had looked at him like that had been with the Dursleys. Not a pleasant memory by any means.

"You know, Harry. We are but mere paupers in their eyes. Their wealth is so substantial that we look like beggars in comparison. The only reason we are invited is because of our social standing."

Harry's next words were somewhat insensitive, but he didn't care anymore. "Even yours, Professor? I would have thought that as the headmaster..." he trailed off.

"War, Harry. War," the headmaster whispered, not wanting to be overheard. It was – according to Elize – immensely impolite to erect privacy wards in the home of another person. "The wars I fought in have brought the Dumbledore's wealth to its knees. Much like the Potter's, I believe."

"My families'?"

"Oh yes, Potters have a rather long tradition of fighting against dark lords. Your father against Voldemort, your grand-father against Grindelwald, his grand-father against Horacius the black, and many more," Dumbledore explained. "I'd say that your family vault and your trust fund harbor enough gold to last you for another ten years, but then you would have to work for yourself."

"Family vault? Never heard of it," Harry replied confused.

"Oh yes, you should definitely check it out as soon as you reach your majority at seventeen. The Grimoir would further your studies quite a bit, I believe."

"At seventeen? If there is something of my parents..."

"I understand, Harry. Believe me, I do," Dumbledore sighed. "But only the lord of the family is able to enter the vault and your ascension to lordship is at seventeen. Before then, the Goblins won't grant you entrance," he said. "Now, let's mingle again. The night is young, after all."

And Harry was left one, standing in the shady alcove and pondering his family. Despite the issue of looking like a spoiled brat if he brought his meager political capital to bear against the Goblins, he also knew that he shouldn't aggravate them if he wanted the race to stay neutral in the coming conflict. That might have been the reason why Dumbledore hadn't told him about it before.

To know that deep in the caverns of Gringotts were heirlooms of his family that he was unable to access – it hurt. More than he would care to admit.

He shook his head, banishing the sad thoughts into the deepest confines of his mind. The party would last for several more hours and he couldn't afford to show weakness.

* * *

**Caribbean 17. August 1995**

It was early in the morning. Very early, and the sun was slowly starting to rise atop the hills while the cacophony of many tropical birds echoed throughout the mansion.

Harry, though, didn't care one bit about anything of that. His shirt was carelessly thrown into a corner and his leather pants were dropped to his ankles. With heavy thrusts he buried himself deeply into the firmly behind in front of him, one hand eagerly kneading soft flesh while the other ran through beautiful brown tresses.

Her screams of pleasure were delicious, and the musky scent of sex permeated the whole room.

That was until, with a loud bang, the door flew open and crashed against the wall. A furious looking man stood on the doorstep with his wand in hand and ready to curse him at any second.

"What are you doing with my daughter?" he screamed, and already Harry could hear other people coming out of their rooms to look what the commotion was about.

He took but a second to take stock of the situation, in one smooth motion pulling out of the lovely Marianne, and dove behind the bed, reaching for his wand. The _Tegmat Aegis_ came not one second too late, as a rather dark curse smashed into his shield.

_Yes_, he thought, _this man meant business_.

Another curse battered his shield, but he didn't care. It only took two seconds to pull up his pants, not bothering with the unbuckled belt at the moment, and he quickly apparated away. Thank Merlin, that Dumbledore had taught him how to do so.

After the feeling of being squeezed through a tube – uncomfortable, but something he got used to – he landed on the beach and let himself fall into the sand, laughing hysterically. He had no shirt, but damned, he was alive and that was all that counted in the end.

Dumbledore had been right. The evening _had_ been fun.

Said old man appeared next to him with a nearly inaudible pop, wearing a purple sleeping robe. And, _oh boy_, the headmaster looked rather constipated and very, _very_ put out with him. The noise ceased and for a minute both looked at each other, until Harry couldn't hold it anymore and, once again, broke out in gales of laughter.

"You know, my boy, that you just shattered any possibility you had to build an alliance with Lord Hernandez. Of course it crossed your mind, who am I to think otherwise, after I told you mere four hours ago that our financial situation is sorely lacking," Dumbledore said sternly.

Harry, though, wasn't fooled and detected the undercurrent of amusement. "Well, there are many fish in the sea. I'm sure we'll find someone else for an alliance."

Dumbledore looked resigned and shook his head. "What am I to do with you, Harry? Have mercy on an old man like me."

* * *

AN: Phew, and that's that. Hope you had some fun! As always, question in the comments, or per pm.

So far,

Eilyfe


	18. Chapter 17

Enjoy! One of the ideas coming up in the following chapter belongs to Joe Lawyer (for more information → read the AN at the end). I'm honored to have over 2000 in both, favs and followers. That's certainly nothing to scoff at! So, thank you!

**PS**: It seems as if Spike is rather bogged down with editing the story. So, to maximize your reading experience, it might not be a bad idea to add one or two additional betas. Volunteers, please send me a pm and we'll talk.

* * *

**Magicks of the Arcane**

Chapter XVII

* * *

**Caribbean 19. August 1995**

It was a fundamental rule of life that there was always a price to pay – for _everything_. His nightly adventure with Marianne Hernandez had been fun; it had been challenging to get that far, and it had been intense in its _execution_. Yet, despite all the positives, it also had been reckless, dangerous and – now that he had the time to think about it – politically suicidal.

There was a reason for rules; there was a reason for proper decorum, for polite behavior, for the use of etiquette – and all of it, all of the facts Elize had painfully drilled into him, had been forgotten in the presence of a lifted skirt, of a tantalizing view of bare flesh. The attempt to be suave, to follow in the steps he assumed his godfather had taken succeeded, but, and that was the true question indeed, did it benefit him? Did he gain something from his exchange of pleasure, or was the price too high in the end?

Hernandez wasn't only Marianne's father – something which, in itself, would be dangerous – but also a lord; and not just in title, but also in influence, money and power.

The Caribbeans consisted of many islands; small, large, and varying in their importance, but each of them had at least one magical settlement. And the lord whose honor he had sullied was in possession of nearly a third of said region; a third – an amount that didn't sound as important if one only heard of it, but rose in value the longer one spent, looking at maps and charts, showing just _why_ the man would have been a valuable ally.

So, in retrospection, reviewing everything he knew and had learned about the man in the last few hours; everything he had learned about the thousands of galleons made with exports of exotic goods, shipping taxes and the likes – was it worth it?

_Yes, it was!_ Would be what every other teenager would have answered.

But, as much as he wished for it to be otherwise, he was no ordinary teenager, had never experienced the pleasure of what people called a _normal_ life. And thus he knew that he had been stupid. Stupid to think that his reputation, of which only half was truly earned, would carry him through, even far away from Britain. Stupider yet, that he thought he could do as he pleased, marching unconcerned through a country not his own, with regulations he didn't know, doing whatever he fancied. Only to learn that there wouldn't always be an Albus Dumbledore to help him, that the largest political cloud was still not powerful enough to cover the whole globe.

"Eat," came the gruff and hostile command.

Metallic sounds echoed through the small place – it oddly reminded him of his cupboard – and he watched the bowl of gruel land in front of him, producing an ugly noise. The warded fancied himself to be a joker, perhaps, and the cruel smirk he wore only confirmed Harry's suspicion.

It was completely uninspired, lacked imagination beyond belief – and still it worked. Chained to the wall, unable to move even an inch, he stared at the bowl, so close yet out of reach. A chill ran up his spine and, if it wouldn't have satisfied his jailor, he would have cursed him loudly for taking away his clothes. Well, _taking away_ might be too pleasant an expression – ripped apart was far more in line with what really had happened.

At least now he had something to thank Snape for; the man had, unknowingly and, of course, involuntarily prepared him for situations such as this – enraged, humiliated, but also stoic and enduring. The Potioneer hadn't broken him with his constant stream of insults and mocking; his jailor wouldn't either.

In truth, he should have known that his escape had been too easy. Maybe he had known, subconsciously, but hadn't registered it until it had been too late. What a fool he had been! His defense was down for one second - lulled into false security by Dumbledore's presence he hadn't wasted one thought on possible reprisals – and it had been his undoing. The headmaster had given him the coordinates for their next stay, still in the Caribbean but far away from Hernandez, and had apparated away.

And Harry? Well, he had taken one second too many to process the information; wards had sprung up, preventing any form of travel, and then came darkness.

His first bout of consciousness afterward had come when they stripped him of his robes, but it was quickly noticed and another blow to the head left him, once again, in Morpheus' tender grasp. His second rise to glorious awareness had been two hours ago and, honestly, he wished that darkness would claim him once more. It wasn't even the cruelty, or the indignity of his position, but the pure boredom that made his incarceration an exercise in endurance.

Not to say anything about his gloating captor who took great pleasure in informing him of the folly of his actions. Honestly, as if he didn't know that himself now.

"Lord Hernandez will visit soon," the guard snickered. "Better make sure you don't misplace your dick this time."

It was crude, but, unfortunately, rather accurate. Harry junior was after all the reason why he was currently chained to a wall. He looked over to the jailor, but remained silent. Responding – no matter which way – would only lead to pain.

_Click_.

Ah, there it was; the outer door opened and in stepped the man Harry had hoped to avoid for the foreseeable future. Hernandez, clothed in rich robes and hung with golden ornaments looked every part the lord he was and his gray unforgiving eyes wasted no time to observe the cell, instead focusing directly on him.

"I wonder," Hernandez whispered, rolling up his sleeves – the golden bracelets on his wrists jingled. "Did you know just whose daughter you touched?"

_Smack_, and the sound echoed in his ears. Still, he remained silent, trying not to show any weakness. It wasn't even as if he couldn't understand the man. Maybe, in the deepest, darkest part of his subconscious, he even felt as if he deserved the punishment. Then again, the part had to be pretty masochistic and he didn't like the idea of associating himself with it.

"Did you really think you'd get away with it?"

_Silence_.

_Smack_, and his head snapped to the side, colliding uncomfortably with the wall behind him. His ice-shard earring glinted in the darkness and the unforgiving lord took notice of it. "Oh, my," he muttered gleefully. "What do we have here?"

With one tug, Hernandez ripped the shard out of Harry's earlobe and watched in satisfaction how the blood started to pour out. He threw the trinket – of which he had no further knowledge – to the side and stepped back.

"Well, it doesn't matter now. Have a nice day, _boy-who-lived_," he sneered and left the cell.

Harry doubted that the man had any intention to let him live, but he also doubted that the headmaster would just leave him to die here. No, Dumbledore was probably already in the process of freeing him. Nonetheless though, it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Being rescued wasn't all too pleasant for his pride, especially when the situation could have been avoided in the first place.

And, again, he cursed his own stupidity.

Five hours of boredom later, the wall next to him exploded in a shower of debris and his jailor was stunned with a well-aimed _Stupefy_. The maddening colorful robe that emerged from the hole in the wall was truly a sight for sore eyes.

* * *

**Caribbean – 20. August 1995**

There were many unexplainable things in the world and he knew that it wasn't just the wizarding world that was susceptible. Sure, nearly every supernatural occurrence that befell the muggle world could be attributed to magic – Greek gods, many beliefs of various religions, sudden disasters like earthquakes, floods and volcanic eruptions – but wizards, for all their faults, were surprisingly efficient when it came to recording their history.

Sometimes details were omitted to prevent the masses from learning dark secrets, sometimes it was to safe the face and reputation of someone – history was written by the winner after all – but, even if lies were interwoven in many a tale, one could _theoretically_ always count on wizards to write and preserve the events of past times in a pristine fashion.

Wizards and magical beings alike were proud of their history, as was their right.

Recordings existed about everything, from the lowliest farmer to the richest merchant; from the proudest and mightiest of kings to the most insidious and feared dark lords; from the common man to the noble elite.

He was, despite what he showed the rest of the world, interested in history and the tales of long forgotten worlds. Myths fascinated him, legends made him want to discover the grain of truth in them; yet, even though he knew that one day he too would be nothing more than a fairytale told to sleepy children, he dearly wished that at least this time the wizarding world would make a mistake in their diligent recordings, never to report in their history books what had been written about him by the international newspaper he just had read.

_Indeed_, he was nearly feverish with hope that this too would someday be nothing more than a long forgotten tale, never to be heard of again.

"_Harry Potter, manwhore or seeker of true love?_" Dumbledore read out loudly and Harry buried his head in his hands.

The headmaster was lounging in a recliner with the newspaper propped up on his lap, obviously deeply amused by what he read. He had forgone his usually heavy robes and wore, to Harry's great _surprise_, extremely colorful shorts – a map of London's underground poking out beneath them. The milky white and old looking legs weren't something Harry liked to dwell on however.

_I usually tan myself in the nude, one of Germany's many nudist beaches is the perfect place for such an endeavor_, Dumbledore had said and for several hours Harry's deepest wish had been to flee to a country far, far away from the man.

"As expected, Lord Hernandez has approached the press claiming that you defiled his daughter," Dumbledore chuckled and took a healthy sip from his tumbler filled with cold and soothing alcohol. "Not surprising after your sudden escape, I have to say. What interests me more, however, is that his daughter spoke up in a different publication and claimed that you loved her – that you would return to her someday. Ah, the tales of true love are always refreshing to an old man like me."

He groaned and Dumbledore smiled way too cheerfully for his happiness to be true. "Harry, my boy, you sure are popular."

The worst part was that he couldn't even fault the headmaster for rubbing it in. He had acted rash, blinded by his lust and, in the end, bollocksed up what could have been a very important alliance. Then again, how was he to know that Marianne had been Lord Hernandez' daughter?

Beautiful white sand shifted beneath his feet, when Harry started to run in circles. "You know, I still can't believe that you're taking this so lightly, Professor," he frowned and looked up to his mentor. "Why? Hernandez would have been a powerful ally, you said so yourself; I'd be furious if I was you."

"Do you want me to be furious?" Dumbledore sighed and folded the newspaper. "No, Harry. Hernandez, for all his power, is not known to be a very giving person, or _forgiving_ person," he snickered. "Even the most tentative of alliances we could have built with him – and might the thought be every so tempting – would have been shaky at best. He is, indeed, everything that Salazar would have valued in his house: sly, cunning and ruthless in achieving his aims. No, in the end it might have been for the best that we didn't ally with him."

"I can accept that, I guess," Harry said, but the frown on his face still wasn't gone. "You know, Professor, I really wonder what alliances we _do_ have."

"Besides the obvious of which many aren't as clearly visible as you think, I might add, there are a few," Dumbledore replied and sighed again, as if he had come to a decision. The headmaster rose from his recliner and stepped up to Harry. He flicked his wand and instantly a table with a map of Great Britain appeared.

"It was my plan to do this at Sirius' ancient family manor, but because you asked me just now, I believe we can alter that plan somewhat," Dumbledore explained.

Harry looked at the map and his brow arced when he saw six faces over the area where he knew the Burrow to be. The more he concentrated on it, the clearer the faces became and, with it, the purpose of the map.

"So the map is like a chessboard?" Harry asked.

"Not entirely; it is, as you have already guessed, a map that details everyone vital to the war effort, but there are many more features to it," was the answer. Harry looked again, observing the map, and saw some places with a red question mark above them.

"Those are possible hideouts for Tom's follower. I do not know his numbers, so it is more like playing chess against an invisible opponent if you will; the few known people from his side like Lucius are painted on their manors, but that too is rather inaccurate," Dumbledore said.

"You know about the Marauder's map... why not use the same features?"

"Oh yes, the map your father and his friends made is a very interesting piece of charms work, but it wouldn't be usable on such a large scale. You see, my boy, they anchored the main feature of the map into Hogwarts' wards – Merlin knows how they got access to them," the headmaster explained. "Now, before we take this any further, let me secure the area."

It had happened so often in the last few weeks, Harry wasn't even startled when Dumbledore let loose a torrent of magic.

"You know about the Weasleys, of course, but did you really think I would include them in a war if they had nothing to offer?" Dumbledore asked and pointed to the Burrow. "What did you notice when you were with them?"

"They're a large family," Harry replied. "Not much else though. I guess Charlie and Bill must be pretty powerful,what with their jobs and all."

"And Arthur? Molly?"

"Mr. Weasley? Doesn't he work with muggle artifacts in the ministry?" Harry asked.

"That he does," Dumbledore chuckled. "But not many know what he did before that. Look," the headmaster said and pointed his wand at the face of Mr. Weasley. "_Proprietas, Arthur Weasley_." A second later a piece of parchment rose out of the map and Harry read it, eyes widening with each word.

_Graduated with NEWTs in Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Arithmancy, ComaC, Herbology and Defense; apprenticed for four years in Defense, worked as an auxiliary Unspeakable for two years, retired to the ministry office for misuse of magical artifacts after the birth of his first son_...

_What the hell_, Harry thought, unable to think of the kind and gentle man and compare him to what he just read.

"Mr. Weasley worked as an Unspeakable?" Harry asked incredulously. That was definitely not what he had expected from the father of seven.

"He did indeed," Dumbledore confirmed. "Another example is Molly. She took much the same NEWTs as Arthur, but later entered an apprenticeship for Ancient Runes. Edward Ruther, another member of the Runes Guild, was beside himself when she presented her family clock to achieve her mastery – and, after the last two months, you should be able to appreciate just how powerful Ancient Runes can be."

Harry furrowed his brow. Damned it, he would never be able to look at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley the same. Now, they weren't just the nice couple that took him in when he needed them, but also valuable assets – and he shuddered to think of them as such.

"Who else? We got the Weasleys, but they can't be the only ones..."

"_Mhh_, the Diggories, the Abbots – various other families that have been wronged in Tom's first rise to power – of course, we also have several members of the Order who don't have political influence, but are rather powerful – Lupin, Moody, Tonks, Diggle, and more," Dumbledore answered and continued with a shark like grin that seemed oddly out of place. "We aren't as helpless as Tom believes us to be. No, I dare say that he is in for a rude awakening if he tries to cross wands with us."

Suddenly anger coursed through Harry's body – anger he had hoped to conquer long ago. "Why then?" he shouted. "Why then wasn't he stopped before? Why did he have to murder my parents before he was stopped?"

Dumbledore sighed, but knew that it wasn't pity or sympathy the young man wanted. "Tom is a terrorist, Harry. There were only two open battles in his first rise – the rest was fought in the shadows. How can you save people and kill him, when you're only informed of his target by the dark mark hovering above it?"

"And I fear that it won't be any better in the coming years. The method worked once, why should it not do so again?"

"It isn't fair," Harry ranted. But he knew it would do nothing; he knew that Dumbledore was right. Voldemort would use exactly the same tactic which had brought him so much success and, once again, magical Britain would shiver in fear.

The pillars that held their society would again be crumbling under the weight of Riddle's terror – and as much as he accepted that Voldemort wasn't a big concerns for the rest of the world, for Britain he was plenty enough.

"What can we do?" Harry asked, seeking for help in the wizened old eyes of his mentor.

"A lot, Harry – a lot. For now we gather resources and organize our own forces. Everything else will have to be decided once we are back in Britain," the headmaster replied sadly. "Which brings me to the next point; the original reason why we traveled to the Caribbean – you see, my boy, we're going to hunt for some treasures."

"Treasures?" Harry asked uncertainly. Hopefully those treasures wouldn't involve former dark dwarfs, wraiths of the ancient world or demons of any kind...

In all honesty, he had enough of those to last him a lifetime.

* * *

It was something he had only heard of before – sometimes when Dudley had fallen asleep in front of the television and hadn't changed the program first – but to see it with his own eyes, to feel the immense mass of water rushing around him, caressing his body; it left him in awe. Earlier in his life, especially after he had received his first broom, he had always considered himself to be a creature of the air, flying through the sky with impunity - not bothered by the shackles that usually bound his freedom. _Now_, however, he had to reconsider.

Just like the sky had once beckoned him to to fly, to join the birds in their pursuits of happiness, the seemingly endless ocean now called for his acceptance – and he freely gave it, as he let himself drift amidst the currents of the sea.

The water was awash in colors, soothing his troubled mind. Rocky formations formed shapes, inviting him to come closer, closer still and then to unravel the secrets that might hide behind them; coral reefs glowed in the darkness, swaying from right to left, then from left to right in a sensual dance guided by the streams – a dance only visible to the keen eye.

Next to him, a turtle floated through the water its shell a blackish green; swarms of fish, different in size and shape, swam by with a speed that fooled his human perception, leaving trails of color behind which seemed like magic even to him who knew it not to be true.

He relished in the ocean's call, delving deeper, deeper and deeper still to indulge himself in the secrecy of the sea – not to lift the veil of her obscurity, but to be swept away in her loving embrace, to belong to her.

To his right, Dumbledore accompanied him – a bed of white from his head and beard trailing behind – and his eyes were alight in joy and laughter. Even if the travel would take hours, there was no need for a spell like the _Venti Flamini_. Not with the happiness he saw in his apprentice.

And Albus laughed heartily, for what might truly have been the first time in decades, with no burdens to weight him down; a profound sense of pride welled in his chest, thankful to be able to share this incredible moment with Harry, who glided through the water as if he was Neptune himself and the currents were his vassals.

The boy, though, saw none of it and only noticed a few soapy bubbles escape the headmaster's charm.

They swam, swam and swam some more, passing more fish than any of them could even bother to count. Creatures of the sea – oceanic grindylows and magically mutated sharks – met them on their way, some fighting for dominance, but soon noticing their folly and submitting to the strange two humans that seemed oddly at home in the vast expanses of the ocean.

Hours upon hours passed, but neither Dumbledore nor Harry bothered with the passage of time, entranced, enchanted and immersed in the beauty of what they saw. And there it was, speared on top of sharp rocks and shimmering underwater, aglow with magick; a wooden ship – maybe made in the sixteenth century, maybe even older than that. Its main mast was broken down, the remains of it forever lost in the deep darkness that still beckoned him to explore it.

He looked over to his mentor and received a serious nod from him. They had found it, just where the old written tales had said it would be, and soon they would see if the rest of the legends were true too. Vast amounts of gold, maybe even riches beyond measure; it was slightly scary to think about the wealth that could be hidden behind the large wooden frame.

They swam to the upper deck and Harry felt tendrils of magic reaching out from the headmaster, probing the ship's innate power for useful information. He felt nothing beyond that though as he was sadly still not on the man's level if it came to magical probing, and his questioning glances were ignored artfully.

After a while, he saw his mentor opening his eyes and grimacing slightly. Dumbledore motioned for Harry to follow him and both made their way to a wooden door which – even to his inferior senses – pulsed with an unknown power. He watched with interest, how the headmaster pulled out his wand and jabbed it at the door.

Nothing happened, but Dumbledore didn't give up and with his third try the door sprung open, curiously enough not letting any water inside. The visible strands of magic that had converged around the man during his attempts dissipated and soon vanished back into the currents. Both stepped over the threshold and into the narrow wooden hallway behind it.

Harry had barely set a foot inside, when the charm that allowed him to breath underwater was lifted. He turned to the headmaster. "_Wow_," he breathed out, unable to properly formulate his thoughts. The whole journey seemed so surreal to him.

"Wow indeed, my boy," Dumbledore replied and turned back, frowning at the door that led out into the ocean. "Powerful magic is at work here, Harry. Old, ancient even, and very, very powerful. I do not think this will be as easy as we have previously thought."

"You mean the door?" Harry asked and he too turned back to it. "What's up with that anyway? There's not even a drop of water in here," he muttered in confusion.

Dumbledore shot a purple light at the door and a complex warding matrix suddenly reared its head, coming to life looking like a barrier. "That is what I talked about, Harry. I recognized the wards when I tried to break them outside, even if it took me three tries to see it. Now it seems harmless, only the function of holding out the water is intact, but had we attempted to enter without unraveling them beforehand, our flesh would have been stripped from our bones," he explained and smiled slightly when he saw the queasy look his apprentice was giving the door. "Rather gruesome, is it not? The _Flesh-Peeling_ ward belongs to the Parkinson family, probably buried deep in their _Grimoir_. I encountered it once when I made a home visit to Eriath Parkinson in 1897."

"So this ship belongs to one of Pansy's ancestors, huh," stated Harry. He definitely had no lost love for the girl, but to have prove just how deeply her family was steeped in the dark arts made him a bit uneasy. "Well, I guess we better search the ship and get what we came for."

"Not so fast, my boy," Dumbledore said and gently grabbed Harry's shoulder. "I will leave any further encounter in this ship to you, but _please_ do not be hasty – tread with caution every step of the way, or it might just be your last."

That the headmaster had been right was easy to ascertain, when Harry took two steps into the narrow corridor – Dumbledore hot on his heels, wand ready to help should his apprentice be unable to deal with the darker magicks that protected the interior of the ship from intruders. Harry, after many painful lessons learned in the tomb, was hesitant to step one inch further without making sure that nothing life-threatening would be activated by doing so. He wove his wand in the patterns the headmaster had shown him during their grueling days beneath Egyptian sand and extended his senses as far as he was able to.

His ability to sense magic and, furthermore, to make sure of its intent and origin was a new found skill that still needed days upon days of sharpening and honing, but even with his – at best – rudimentary understanding of it, the amount of magic that sprung out to him was nothing short of staggering. He carefully took a step back and looked over to Dumbledore, receiving a smile that clearly challenged him to try his best.

Harry tried to organize the influx of feelings and sensations that battered his mind and, _very slowly_, he managed to get a rather accurate picture – as if history itself was written out and documented in the magic he sensed. The curses were old, the magic used was dark with shades of gray, but nothing he couldn't potentially beat.

The web of traps was elaborate and he decided to break the minor curses first, hopefully without disturbing the ward net and triggering the lethal protections. This wasn't a job for pure power, but something that had to be achieved with delicate wand work.

No, bulldozing through the enchantments and wards would lead to a cascade of magical power that had the power to wipe both, himself and the headmaster, out of existence.

"_Exsolvo Parvus_," he muttered and watched, fascinated how his wand connected with the magic of a minor ward.

He had to tighten the grip on his wand, because it suddenly felt heavier than before – the weight of the added magic had settled on it. Carefully regulating the power he channeled through his wand, Harry disentangled the strands of blue colored magic – probably tied into a ward that would transfigured something, or _someone_ – without touching anything else of the large web consisting of many different colors.

Soon, a feet long strand of blue magic was wrapped around his wand and, after extracting it from the tangle, Harry looked on as it dissipated into nothing. "Well, that's one," he said.

"One less, about twenty six to go," Dumbledore confirmed with a smile that looked benevolent, but – from the angle Harry looked at it – could also be interpreted as sadistic. Maybe it was just his imagination, but the next words definitely didn't fill him with assurance. "Now, do not idle. There is still much to do for you."

And, wasn't that the truth? Three more minor wards were dissolved, but those were the easiest of the protections in the ship. The traps got more difficult with each step, increasing in their potency to kill them and in their complexity.

During their search through the ship they found themselves in places like the cook's chamber, the cargo area, the sleeping quarters – each of them telling a different story and, to the great consternation of an exhausted Harry Potter, each of them with different sets of protection. Whoever had sailed under the flag of Pansy's ancestor, they surely had taken their defense seriously. Not even the abysmal quarters that Dumbledore recognized as the dwellings of house elves were free of magic.

Twenty six wards had been a rather generous estimation and – after hours of taking them down and evading traps – they stood in the captain's cabin, filled with various sailor knick-knacks and instruments not unlike those that Dumbledore housed in his office.

The headmaster himself examined a rather large map. "Curious," he muttered and his half-moon spectacles slipped a bit downward. "According to this map the ship had been on a course far away from where we are now."

"I guess something happened, Sir," Harry answered. "What I want to know is why we didn't see any skeletons. I would have thought the crew died when the ship sunk."

Dumbledore looked at him queerly and shook his head. "Those were wizards, Harry. I am sure that they apparated to safety as soon as the ship was damaged. No, no wizard would die through something as mundane as a sinking ship."

Out of habit, Harry extended his senses again, hoping to catch another revelation that might help them. What he found however wasn't what he had expected – a small casket that reeked of magic and enchantments, of protective intent for its content and deadly intentions for those who dared to open it. He became bored though as it took Dumbledore the better part of an hour to unravel the protections until, with a snapping noise, the casket sprang open and revealed a golden amulet encrusted with beautiful gems.

_Now that looks more like a treasure_, he thought giddily while the headmaster probed the jewelry with his wand.

"It's a Portkey," Dumbledore said at last and furrowed his brow. "Its destination however is unclear... which certainly does not inspire much confidence in taking it."

Harry groaned; somehow he just knew were this was going. "Professor..."

"I suggest we use it, but remain very careful," Dumbledore replied cheerfully.

_And sometimes Harry hated it when he was right_.

* * *

**AN**: Well, that's the end of the chapter. My thanks go to Joe Lawyer who, after rather lengthy discussions, brought up the idea of sunken ships and the treasures that could be found in them. Without his input the last scene probably would not exist.

New spells in this chapter:

_Exsolvo Parvus – a spell to connect with a ward-scheme (only applicable to minor wards)_

_Proprietas, Name – a spell to show detailed information about a person (only applicable on Dumbledore's strategical map)_


	19. Chapter 18

The next chapter! I have decided to limit the chapter length between 3000 and 6000 words. It has the advantage that you'll get updates a bit more often.

* * *

**Magicks of the Arcane**

Chapter XVIII

* * *

**Caribbean - 20. August 1995**

_Crunch_ – the sickening, yet oddly satisfying sound of a dragon hide boot, meeting with the head of someone, or _something_. He staggered back, whirled around – an incantation left his lips – and torrents of fire erupted from his wand, unyielding and menacing burning its way through swaths of enemies. And despite all his efforts it still wasn't enough – because for each burned enemy a new one filled the gaps, rather like a hydra that lost one head and regrew two instead.

"_Hasta Glacialis_," muttered Harry and watched in satisfaction how three Inferi were speared against the wall of the cave. They were still animated, still struggled to get free, but were unable to move – the ice shard was firmly lodged in the rock.

"I don't think they like us, Professor," Harry shouted and summoned some rocks, planting them directly into the heads of the incoming undead. "No," he muttered, ducking behind a small marble pillar. "They don't like us, _at all_."

And wasn't that the truth? Wherever it was that they had landed after taking the charmed amulet, the reception was less than friendly. A large cave filled with treasures was great, no doubt, but he really could have done without the legions of undead that slowly – but surely – made their way over to him. To be honest, it looked more like a macabre dance with them swaying from left to right as if in trance.

The headmaster nodded and ignited his own fire, tearing through the scores of Inferi that were about to make their lives rather difficult. "I fear that you are right my boy," Dumbledore continued to swing the fiery whip protruding from his wand. "Do not be discouraged though... rather, take it as an interesting training exercise."

Dumbledore's answer was accompanied by cheerful whistle as the headmaster turned his back to the incoming waves of enemies. "If you please, try to keep them away from me while I search for the enchantment."

"Enchantment?" Harry flicked his wand, transfiguring a pebble into a decently sized sword. "_Rumpii Ignis_!" Harry smiled, which was a rather scary sight considering that the flames that suddenly engulfed his sword gave his eyes an eery gleam. He swung the sword a few times and – accidentally, of course – set fire to a few undead.

"There has to be some kind of charm that reanimates the fallen Inferi. Until we find it, they will not stop," Dumbledore said, still waving his waving his wand, muttering incantations under his breath.

It took over fifteen minutes for the headmaster to unravel the enchantment that summoned the Inferi; fifteen minutes in which Harry slashed and magicked his way through the seemingly countless rows of undead.

When the cave was finally cleared though, and the headmaster had killed off the last of them – if undead could be killed – both inspected the treasures that were horded in it. Old books, heaps of Galleons which were quickly put in an enchanted money bag, finely crafted jewelry, gems of different sizes and colors – all in all, a very good haul.

"This looks interesting," Harry picked up one of the books without a cover. He flipped through the pages, his eyes widening by the second. "Um, Sir," he said. "I don't think you'd want this book lying around unsecured."

"Mhh," Dumbledore hummed in acknowledgment and walked over to his apprentice, taking the book out of Harry's hands. He, too, leafed through the pages and his brows rose. "Oh my – I do think you are right, Harry. Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

"Is it..." Harry looked over to the headmaster who had already pocketed the book in his robes.

"It is, indeed – most curious though that captain left the book here and not in his ancestral home," Dumbledore observed the cave with a keen eye. "I do not know which of Ms. Parkinson's ancestor it was that left his treasures here, but I get the feeling that he did not necessarily trust his family."

"Why is that?"

"A family Grimoir is something of extreme value – for him to have taken it from his home... I doubt that his family was happy about it. And he might have had good reasons for it," Dumbledore said, absentmindedly categorizing several of the jewels.

"Well, he was still as nasty as they come," Harry frowned and thought about the few things he had seen in the book. "Some of those spells were incredibly dark."

The headmaster looked up from his task and regarded his apprentice with patience. "You should know by now, Harry, that nothing is ever as it seems – dark does not equal evil. It is always a matter of perception, and of course, of balance."

Harry gave the headmaster a pointed look, waving his hand in the general direction of the heap of burned Inferi. "The cave doesn't exactly inspire much confidence in his inert goodness."

"He wanted to protect his family secrets," Dumbledore smiled. "The manner in which he did so is not too pleasant – I agree, but I doubt that he ever anticipated someone actually coming this far. It was... let me call it a pre-emptive measure."

"Don't you need dead bodies to make Inferi? So he's either a grave robber, or a serial killer," Harry tried to remember how many of the undead he had cut down. "A very good serial killer at that."

"Not necessarily my boy," the headmaster walked over to the entrance of the cave, having finished with packing everything of worth away. "There are several ways to make Inferi and the method our captain used was one of the less harming ones."

"How can you even know that, Professor?"

Dumbledore chuckled mysteriously. "I have my ways," but upon seeing the expression of his apprentice he continued with his explanation, "The enchantment I broke gave me some of the information. Parkinson used several _homunculi_ – artificial bodies created through potions and alchemy – and permanently transfigured them into something that looks like an Inferi, acts like an Inferi, but certainly isn't one."

"So, the whole time..."

"You might as well have fought against pebbles or flowers," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eyes. "Not that the transfigured Inferi aren't dangerous – mind you. The enchantment I broke was responsible for renewing the animation charms and for reassembling them after their destruction."

While talking, both exited the cave and found themselves on a small plateau. Instantly, Harry felt a field of magic washing over his body. "Apparition and Portkey wards," he said, recognizing the distinct signature of the protective magic that prevented them from leaving.

"Right you are," Dumbledore commented, idly observing their surroundings. There were remnants of an old stone bridge that led away from the plateau, but was still encompassed by the wards. "No need to trouble our feathery companions though – I think I know what to do."

With a few flicks of his wand, the headmaster cast a ridiculously overpowered _Reparo_ charm on the bridge. Harry didn't know how much power Dumbledore had put in the spell, but he was reasonably sure that it would have left normal wizards unconscious for hours. Gigantic pieces of stone were rising out of the deep ravine, and in front of his incredulous eyes, reassembled themselves to reconstruct the bridge in all its glory.

After a few steps, both were well on their way back to British soil.

* * *

**England - 21. August 1995**

The first step into Sirius' ancestral home was a quiet one; he had become careful after two months of constant danger and although he trusted Padfoot with his life, the gruesome stories told about the Black family didn't paint them in the most favorable light. His reluctance to relax in the house hadn't even necessarily something to do with the amount of following sheep it raised – sheep following Riddle that was. No, much more dangerous had been, in his opinion at least, the many shadow emperors the house of Black had born, bred and raised.

Indeed, Sirius' family had never been one to overtly usurp control; they had, in all probability, sneered when news reached their home that a new dark lord was on the rise, wreaking havoc on their net of connections. Blacks were recorded it history as extremely subtle politicians, able to sway the feeble minded with naught but a few words; blackmail their bread and intrigue their butter. Riddle was someone to be feared, for sure, but his approach to reign the country was brash and obtrusive – cunning and clever, certainly, but with too much focus on the terror he spread, making enemies of people that could have been allies and scaring away those that could have been beneficial to his cause.

If there was one flaw of Riddle that he knew of with absolute certainty, it was this: the ridiculously high regard Voldemort held himself in – too self-absorbed in his own greatness, Riddle had painted a large target on himself, forcing the ministry of the past to take action against him. Could he have won the war without the _boy-who-lived's_ intervention? Surely, but it would have been a lot easier without the government interfering in his plans.

The Blacks had known and taught this simple rule to their heirs for centuries – if you want something done, then do it from the shadows; never against the government, but from within so that, in the end, they do your bidding without even realizing it.

And thus the term shadow emperor came to be, for Blacks – true Blacks, not the sheep that followed Riddle – thrived in the environment of subtle manipulations. Were their goals accomplished without bloodshed? Not often, but they were cunning enough in their dealings that even though malicious rumors circulated around the family like moths around the flame, they didn't even seem half as threatening as Riddle had been. For centuries, Blacks hammered the pureblood agenda through the old and dusty channels of the Wizengamot and for centuries they were left unopposed by the ministry – vicious politicians they were, with goals not unlike those of the dark lord, but with a way to success that served them indefinitely better than gory violence and a sure fall into disgrace.

Shadow emperor was an apt term as far as he was concerned and it made the whole family – with the exception of Sirius and a few other strays – more frightening than Voldemort could ever hope to be. Thus he was reassured that his caution was warranted, now that he walked into the literary black heart of Padfoot's family.

And his concerns were definitely warranted, if the vibes he got from this place were correct – because with his second step into the spider's lair, his senses told him that he was about to be cursed; and he was not too happy about it.

He gave the headmaster a significant look, begging for pardon that the man had to wait another minute before he could enter the house, and scanned his surroundings – taking great care to follow his sixth sense against magical traps that he had developed during their travels.

The house was heavily warded, that much he was certain of, and the magicks in play made the Parkinson wards he had encountered on the ship look like childish attempts to secure something. But the wards were to be expected – the incoming danger of being cursed, however, wasn't.

Merlin help, a few floors above his current position, he even felt a variant of the cannibal curse – _Edo Corpus Coactum_, the worst form of it, compelling the victim to eat itself. At least – and for the good of his sanity – he also sensed that someone had cast a containing charm around it. Personally, he suspected Bill of that particular feat; having read the reports about the various assets the order had, Bill was the only one that would have the practical experience to counter such a nasty dark curse.

But as horrible as the cannibal curse was, it still didn't explain why he felt threatened right now. He extended his senses a bit farther, carefully guiding them around the magics that he knew had nothing to do with his current problem, until his eyes came to rest on a rather particular sight.

He couldn't help it; his left brow arched and he intently observed a large ugly umbrella stand, made from the remnants of a troll foot. It was a rather tasteless bit of décor and it baffled him that something like _that_ even made it into the inventory of the House of Black. Even more curious was the fact that the charmed umbrella stand only shot a tripping jinx – which shouldn't have triggered such a response from him. The magic of the charm should have been incredibly easy to unravel; why then was it still there? He didn't even entertain the thought that the resistance standing against Riddle was incapable to do it – that would call everything into question he had learned from Dumbledore's incredible map.

Harry pulled out his wand, casting several identification spells on the umbrella stand – something else had to be the reason for his reaction and if his superficial scan didn't reveal anything, then he simply had to dig deeper; he would get his answers, one way or another.

_What in Mave's name..._

The information he got from his spell was so absurd that he didn't dare to believe it. Another two scans followed, but both of them revealed the same and – to his everlasting shame – he somehow felt pranked by whoever placed the troll foot there.

"Professor," he said, directing his incredulous gaze to the headmaster. "The foot is enchanted with a tripping jinx, but... well – the jinx is protected by so many other wards and spells – it'd take weeks to unravel it!"

Dumbledore looked more amused than irritated and inspected the umbrella stand himself. "Indeed," he said. "I would wager that, in the end, the others found a tripping jinx to be inconsequential – an annoyance, for sure, but in the greater scheme..."

Apparently, the House of Black had a rather wicked sense of humor too.

He shot the troll foot a dark look, shielded his own feet with a few well placed protection charms and stepped farther into the house, thoroughly annoyed by the false alarm. The rest of the entrance hallway wasn't pleasant either, especially the mounted elven heads he saw on the wall – dark, dusty, and inhabitable was the motto of Sirius' home as far as he could tell. A portrait, magically sealed within its curtains, garnered his attention, but he felt it better to let that one rest in peace. There probably was a reason why it was covered.

The large double doors across the portrait were, apparently, the end of their short horror trip. With a grin aimed at the headmaster, Harry disillusioned himself, opened them a bit and slipped inside. Dumbledore, seemingly content with letting Harry do his thing, followed suit and added a few charms that would make it even harder for the people inside to notice them.

And there he was, standing bowed over a a large table littered with parchment and maps. Sirius, godfather extraordinaire, furrowed his brow. He looked indefinitely better than he had at the end of Harry's third year – well groomed and with robes befitting of his status, he seemed to be well on his way to recovery.

"Do you think it will work?" Sirius asked, looking up to the other occupants of the room.

A tall dark skinned man dressed in the usual Auror garb answered him, "I think so," he said and rose from his stool. The man walked over to Sirius and pointed to a location on one of the maps. "It's directly across – we should be able to see if something suspicious happens."

"Kingsley is right," another voice, this time female sounding, stated. "I'm a pureblood – it shouldn't be too difficult. A few words here and there – making my ambitions clear, you know... and I'm in."

Harry looked up from the map _Kingsley_ was pointing at, which seemed like the layout of a building, and searched for the voice. When he found it, he was pleasantly surprised that it belonged to a beautiful woman lounging in her chair – black hair, rosy cheeks and somewhere in her twenties.

"And you're sure about that? I recall that you were an aspiring medi-witch – wouldn't it raise questions if you suddenly want to work for the ministry?" Sirius asked with a frown. It was obvious that he was quite concerned about the woman.

"Na," She waved her hand dismissively. "I want to work for Mungos eventually, true – but all I did since I left Hogwarts was studying books and living off of my inheritance. Aside from my name, no one in the ministry should know me."

"Mhh... good. That will do – are we certain that she'll get the right job?"

"As certain as we can be," answered _Kingsley_. "Arthur told us that Pickeny fired his last assistant because he was a halfblood – he's rumored to have quite the filthy mind, mind you – so a pretty pureblood woman should be accepted instantly."

"Pickeny is a swine," interrupted the voice of a person that hadn't been in the room before. "Had the misfortune of working with him once... blighter is a bigot alright – had his hands all over me. Wonder what his wive would say to that."

The newcomer – another young woman with rainbow colored hair – stepped out of an adjacent bathroom and wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Absolutely hate the guy," she said.

"Tonks is right you know, Hestia," commented Sirius. "If you're really going to work there then you have to make sure that the guy can't lay a finger on you."

_Kingsley_ poured himself a cup of coffee and seemed unperturbed. "Wouldn't worry about that," he said. "Pickeny can only get away with it if his assistants are halfbloods or muggleborns – purebloods with even remote political influence are safe. He knows that – Hestia won't have to deal with this problem."

"Well, then we'll do it, I guess," said Sirius, his face had become less intense after learning that this _Pickeny_ would know his limits. "Try to get into Broom Control and observe the Floo Network Authority office whenever you can," he continued. "We don't need information about everyone, but if you see a suspected sheep of Voldemort then try to warn us as fast as possible."

She nodded and emptied the content of her cup. "Will do."

_Hestia_ rose from her chair and walked out of the room, presumably to get into this Broom Control – whatever that was. To be truthful, Harry was quite mesmerized by her swaying hips – completely unintentionally, of course. It was certainly interesting to observe the dynamics between the different members – there seemed to exist a level of trust that surprised him – and he was glad that Padfoot had finally found some people he could talk with; people that didn't want him dead.

Dumbledore chose that moment as the right one to reveal himself and Harry, letting the illusions around them fade. "Exceptional work, Sirius."

But Sirius paid the headmaster no mind, his eyes searching frantically for someone else, and it took but a second for him and his godson to embrace each other.

"Padfoot," Harry whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

It had only been two months since he last saw his godfather, but at that time it had only been in the man's animagus form. Now, however, he finally got to see him as a person. And he was happy, incredibly happy about it.

"Hey, kiddo," Sirius answered, holding onto Harry as if he could vanish any second. "Good to have you here... Merlin, I missed you."

* * *

**England – 24. August 1995**

He put down his mug, folded the Prophet and sighed. It had been four days since he arrived at Grimmauld Place and much, way too much, had happened in this small span of time. His meetings with the various members of the Order had been enlightening, for sure, but it had also been exhausting, especially because it took a lot of time to convince some of them that his own membership was warranted. Tonks – as he had learned to call her – was a delightful woman, not just in looks, but also in her whole manner and although she was several years older than him, her behavior was more in line with the Weasley twins than anyone else; appreciable, really. Not to mention that she was an Auror and worked under Madam Bones, whom he knew from his lessons with Elize to be a scrupulously fair department head.

That alone was enough to convince him that Tonks didn't just get into the corps due to her fascinating metamorph abilities, but also due to her innate talent as a fighter – it was definitely interesting to see how the clumsy woman could become as graceful as a seasoned dancer as soon as the dueling lessons started.

Dueling lessons – now that was something he could appreciate. Thrice a week, the members that were somewhat lacking in the battle department gathered at Sirius' ancestral home, and in a heavily warded room on the third floor, courtesy of Bill Weasley, were taught by those that had survived the first war. The lessons varied between combat simulations and learning essential spells for stealth as well as defense and magical transportation; what was even better, at least for him, was that he could participate in those lessons because the _Fidelius_ obscured his wand's trace – making it impossible for the ministry to track his position.

The teachers, usually Moody and Shacklebolt, took some form of sadistic pleasure in the suffering of those that had to learn the finer points of magical combat, but that didn't worry Harry too much. In fact, he found it rather pleasing to listen to old stories Moody regaled them with – times when he himself had been a young lad, fighting not only to keep Britain safe, but also most of Europe; the man didn't have a lot of political clout, but he had an inconceivable amount of contacts scattered around the globe. It was no wonder that he had managed to fill half of Azkaban himself.

The Auror corps had a number of members ranging somewhere from fifty to one hundred and it was somewhat disappointing that the Order had only four of them in their ranks, but those packed quite a punch. With Moody's surprising return to the corps – the excuse was something along the lines of not wanting to die sick in his bed – and Shacklebolt's position they had two people in the senior ranks. Tonks had her ears on the ground, listening to rumors among the normal Aurors and the fourth man of the group, a Hufflepuff of '88 called Edgar Eresworth joined the corps as a fresh recruit, looking for hints and clues among the other trainees.

So, even if it was only rudimentary, the law enforcement was covered. What made it even easier, was the fact that Fudge – although having grown a mind of his own lately – had no direct falling out with Dumbledore, ergo no reason to tighten the security around the various departments to lessen the headmaster's influence.

It still was a battle of politics, no doubt, and the minister did everything in his power to take away the support of those who might be able to challenge him someday, but Fudge didn't act irrational – not yet at least – and that was exactly what Dumbledore had hoped for. As long as Fudge didn't feel cornered he remained predictable, if not susceptible to suggestions.

Moody had been right at the end of Harry's fourth year; it _is _dangerous to be right, when the government is wrong.

In the two months Dumbledore and Harry had been away, Sirius had done his best to build a solid base of operation. Not only was Grimmauld Place cleaned – Padfoot had to step in when Molly tried to do it by hand – but _assets_ had been put in place as well to watch the most important ministry offices. Stake outs had been built, observing some of the suspected Death Eater homes, and were manned through rotational schedules.

Sirius, who had been young himself during the first war, still recognized the need for a complete overhaul of how the Order ran its missions. He took the hard learned lessons of the last war – often taught in blood and tears – to heart, and through organizing things differently, freed time up for Dumbledore to concentrate his efforts on the necessary politics.

All in all, things progressed smoothly for the light side at the moment, but in war this could change rather quickly and Harry knew it.

Currently though, he was faced with a headache, wishing himself back into the lovely embrace of Kiya at Berenibs' place. As soon as he had set foot on British soil, responsibility crashed into him like a well aimed Bludger. Not only was he prophesized to end Riddle, which he'd do in a heartbeat if he was able to, but he was also involved in the war effort – not in direct battles for now, as Voldemort was laying low for the moment, but in the organization, the training and in his newly acquired responsibility as the Order's _treasurer_.

His training with Elize had to be resumed, invitation to balls and meetings were nearly sent daily, and as the holder of the Order's Gringotts key, he also had to be available to haggle with the Goblins – definitely not easy by any stretch of the imagination.

Which brought him back to the actual problem he had to deal with.

"So, I'm not going back?" he asked.

"It is your decision, of course," Dumbledore, who sat at the end of the table, answered, stroking his beard carefully. "But in the current political climate it might be in your best interest to sit out this year. Fudge, by the means of some age old bylaws, managed to put one of his own supporter in the position of a teacher. I don't know whom it is, _yet_, but I can tell you that the person won't make it easy for you if you do indeed decide to return to Hogwarts."

He could tell that the headmaster was rankled by the minister's audacity to interfere in Hogwarts; hell, who wouldn't be? And he also saw that it irked Dumbledore quite a bit that Fudge didn't divulge who he would sent to the castle.

"You have to make a choice now my boy," Dumbledore said, looking more sad than anything else. "If you decide to return to Hogwarts on the 1st September, then you will remain a normal student – and no one could fault you for it; I certainly wouldn't – but it would also exclude you from the war. You learned a lot in the past year, undoubtedly, but I can't in good conscience involve you if you're not adequately prepared by the Order – which would be rather difficult at the castle and with a ministry supervisor too."

"And if I stay here?"

"Then you will be trained by our best members," Dumbledore answered. "It will, in all probability, cost you whatever remains of your childhood. Like every member you are going to man a stake out four times a week for several hours and do whatever you can to further our cause. You will have to start politicking at balls, swimming through the muddy waters of the higher social class, evading sharks whenever you can. On most Sundays I will come to Grimmauld Place to train you in the finer points of magic – much like I did during our journey."

"If you put it like this... going to Hogwarts would be easier, huh?" Harry asked, but continued before the headmaster had a chance to answer. "Then again, if I take the easy way out, Riddle will probably win, right?"

Dumbledore shrugged unceremoniously. "I'm sure that we would somehow find a way for you to win if you decide to return to the castle, but it would definitely be harder. With the horcrux out of your head, the only chance for you to kill Tom is through a duel. And for that you need to be prepared."

"That's another thing – what about the soul jars? I guess he made more than the two that are already destroyed," Harry said and frowned. It wasn't pleasant to think back to the battle between himself, Riddle and the demon – but, unfortunately, talking about horcruxe always led his thought back to it.

"Let me worry about those foul things, Harry," Dumbledore answered. "I will search for them myself, and it probably won't go amiss to ask Severus for some input on the matter."

"_Professor_ Snape? Is that wise?"

The headmaster chuckled. "As much as you dislike Severus, I have good reasons to trust him – very good reasons, in fact."

"Oh?"

"I am sorry, my boy, but I cannot reveal them – I am bound by oath – suffice to say though, Severus will never willingly betray our cause, no matter his caustic attitude."

"Well, I guess that's it then," Harry muttered. "I'll resign from Hogwarts with the official reason that I want to further my political standing."

"Very well," Dumbledore said and nodded. "Be wary of the Prophet though. I am sure that they will try to spin the whole thing with a rather sensational angle."

* * *

**AN:** And Harry's finally back in the UK! The journey didn't come out as I had intended it at the start, but what the hell... It somehow developed a mind of its own after the first few words. That's something that happens fairly often to me: characters that suddenly 'write themselves'. You know what I mean? Sudden ideas and plot bunnies that stray into my head and force me to completely overhaul the plans I have for certain parts of the story. Instead of twelve countries you got far less, but I don't think I could have made it believable if the stay in Egypt only lasted for two days...

Originally, I planned for them to be held in an Estonian dungeons, courtesy of some weres, and the line 'I don't think they like us, Sir' was reserved for this confrontation. In Venezuela they were supposed to help in a civil war (trench warfare) to gather some supporters after things had died down... anyway, I had a lot of ideas but not enough 'in-plot time' to make them work. In the end I think I did reasonably well to make their travels interesting for you.

New Spells:

_Hastia Glacialis – summons a spear of ice and banishes it toward the enemy._

_Rumpii Ignis – sets a sword on fire_


	20. Chapter 19

And the next chapter, around 6000 words – barely in the limit of the new restrictions I placed upon myself. Anyway, some of you brought up valid issues, and as I have already wrote to one reviewer per pm, it can be truly a curse if you have attentive readers. If I leave things out of a chapter, then it probably will be for a good reason; either I don't believe it to be important enough, or I want to use it in the following chapters. You'll see what I mean when you read this one.

Now, enjoy!

* * *

**Magicks of the Arcane**

Chapter XIX

* * *

**Britain – 28. August 1995**

_Cold_, he thought and rubbed his hands together – no matter how much, every bit of warmth was welcome right now. Harry looked over to his partner; the man, Dedalus, didn't look any better, but no amount of cursing Moody to the depths of hell and back would change anything – they had tried after all, and had no results to show for it.

It served one purpose though, it unified them against the common enemy: Mad-Eye. The utter bastard had sent them off with a grin on his twisted face, never mentioning how cold it could become around these parts of Britain, and of course, neither he, nor Dedalus had cast heating charms beforehand. Both sat in a small hunters cabin, and armed with telescopes that had an incredible range, they spied on Nott's ancestral home.

Not that they were able to see much – the wards around the manor were far too strong for any kind of surveillance mechanism to penetrate them; then again, Harry had a pretty good view on the apparation point where guests would arrive. That way, at least, they were able to document who visited the family and what an interesting documentation it was: the Malfoys, the Parkinsons, the Goyles and a large amount of other, not so well known, families went in and out.

Diggle, as well, had surprised him. He still remembered the few times he had met the man before – in the streets around his aunt's home, in the Leaky Cauldron when he had entered the wizarding world for the first time – and both times the man had bowed to him, expressing extreme gratitude, but in general, looking like a fool while doing so.

If someone had asked him then: 'W_hat is Dedalus Diggle made of?'_ Well, he would have answered: '_The same kind of cloth that made Fudge, perhaps a bit nicer though.' _

And, oh boy, would he have been wrong in this assumption. The man was no fighter, that much was clear; he had seen Dedalus fumble with his wand, floundering with even the weakest of the spells they learned. But fighting wasn't everything in a war, not by a long shot.

_Dedalus Diggle_, might have been his name, but it wasn't who he was; rather, like a carefully constructed facade, it was what he wanted everyone else to see – a deception that went on for years even before Harry had been born. _That_, his charming if somewhat incompetent nature, and his position as head of the Obliviator Headquarters, put him into a prime position to spy for the Order.

He was unable to fight probably, but hell if there ever was a man more competent in surveillance charms and obliviation.

"You think Voldemort's in there?" Harry took another look through the telescope, courtesy of Aberforth, Amos and Arthur – all three of them had worked on it for over a month, pooling their knowledge of ancient runes, arithmancy and enchanting.

"I doubt it," Dedalus said and pushed a small trigger on his telescope up. "No magical signature above the ordinary to be seen. Damned shame it is that these things can't look through the walls."

"Pretty active though – wonder what they're up to," Harry said and took a look through his own telescope, playing with the buttons that activated the enchantments. "Nott sure is busy, old chum that he is."

And that was one of the main reasons why he had been so eager to be assigned to this stake out. The possibility to stick it to that arrogant blighter, who had escaped his just punishment through his father's old money, had been simply too tempting. The problem though was that they couldn't use any magic, excluding the enchantments for their surveillance – otherwise the magical sensors in the manor would pick it up.

It was confunding, really. The intruder wards of the manor didn't even have a quarter of the range the magical sensor ward had; which meant nothing else than that they had to stay put without using magic. And by Merlin, right about now, nearly frozen stiff in the biting cold, Harry really wanted to use magic.

"Say, Dedalus," Harry rummaged in his backpack, pulling a thermos flask filled with tea out of it. "How come you even started this whole spying business? I mean, erm, you know... why go through all the trouble?"

Dedalus held up his own cup and poured some tea into it; he gave Harry a searching look. "Not so much trouble now. I... well, I think it's somewhat like a split personality now, might let Vance take a look at it someday. You know, after doing it so long?"

He sighed. "Times were different back then, lad. My father – well – he had been a spy against Grindelwald... and damned it, the old man even survived the whole thing," Dedalus took a sip from his cup and furrowed his brows. "I was proud of him, you know? Who wouldn't? And then... around 68', I think... he was murdered. Just snuffed out like that. _Pow_, and suddenly I had no family left."

"Riddle?"

"Bastard came himself to off my father – and I like to think that the blighter needed a lot of dark rituals to regain his full body after the fight; the scene – you know? - where they found the body... it was completely destroyed. A mile in every direction... not one tree to be seen! Afterward Riddle lied low for half a year – I like to think that's because of my father."

Harry listened attentively, as Dedalus told him about his father. And by Merlin, Diggle Senior must have been a serious bad ass... It was a shame that he didn't have the chance to meet him. On some level he could even connect Dedalus; both were orphans, or rather, had been made orphans.

"So you did it to fight against Riddle?"

"Fight? No, no... you've seen me with a wand, lad – haven't you?" he said and scratched his cheek. "I'm no fighter like my father was, but I think I inherited his penchant for spying – and that was what I did, you know? Was in my fifth year at Hogwarts when it happened... took two years to fashion myself a new identity that wouldn't be questioned."

Diggle sat up a bit straighter, massaging his cramped legs. "Dumbledore's no fool though... saw right through me, he did. Should've known – my father worked with him, after all. I told him of my reasoning and he was right sad about that; allowed me to do it anyway. You know how he can be..."

"And since then you've been a member of the Order?"

"Na, that came a bit later, lad. Took some time to work myself up the ministry – it was as corrupt as it is nowadays – but I still told Albus everything I learned. He was the only one who really fought Riddle, you see? I joined the Order in 76'... five years before you snuffed the blighter."

"Didn't really snuff him, did I?" Harry shook his head. "Anyway – _what the_... Dedalus, Apparation point!"

Diggle directed his own telescope to the grassy meadow – encircled by four stone pillars – where the people that visited the Nott family always popped up. He sucked in a sharp breath. "By all that's holy – that's Lestrange!"

"It isn't Bellatrix though, this one's a man."

"Doesn't matter," Dedalus said. "Rudolphus is supposed to be in Azkaban too. Merlin, there he is, there's Rabastan! Bloody hell, what's going on here?"

"They're inside now... fifteen minutes until our shift is over. We have to tell Command as soon as possible."

They waited for fifteen minutes, neither talking, nor looking away from the manor. It was simply too dangerous for only one person to man the stake out. Should something go wrong, one man alone couldn't do much and if the Lestranges were indeed free, it didn't bode well – for anyone. When the time was up, and their replacements – Podmore and Eresworth – appeared, they quickly gave them an overview, before walking to the edge of the magical sensor wards and apparating back to Grimmauld Place.

* * *

"Sirius," Harry burst into the meeting room at Padfoot's ancestral home. "Azkaban's been compromised!"

The reactions to that statement varied – Dumbledore who had perused an ancient tome of the library, snapped it shut with an audible sound; Sirius grimaced; Moody's expression formed into a truly frightening one – no wonder, he had filled the place himself, after all – and John Abbott, who had been in a quiet discussion with Remus, whirled his head to Harry so fast that his neck nearly snapped.

"Azkaban's been compromised?" Sirius asked, and when he got the affirmative nod, turned to the other occupants of the room. "Everyone but the Command and Harry out! This information is sealed now, don't talk about it with anyone."

As soon as everyone besides Moody, Sirius and the headmaster had cleared out, Dumbledore turned to Harry. "Now, please explain how you came to this conclusion. Nothing we've heard at the ministry indicates that Azkaban has been broken into."

"So it's not just a cover-up? Damned, that's even worse!" Harry started to pace around the room. "Dedalus and I were nearly through with our shift, when the Lestrange brothers suddenly apparated to Nott Manor... I thought the ministry knew and wanted to hush it up."

Sirius' eyes lit up with an unholy gleam. "Rudy and Raby are free? Bloody hell, that's Crouch Jr. all over again."

"Indeed," said Dumbledore, looking quite concerned. "I believe they might have used the same method that Crouch Sr. used to free his son. This isn't good," he too started to pace around the room. "We can assume that all of Tom's men have been freed."

It was a revelation that didn't sit well with anyone in the room. Many vicious Death Eater had escaped their punishment through bribery, but those that hadn't – those that willingly went to Azkaban, assured in their belief that their master would return – they were the most dangerous of the lot. With nothing to lose and everything to gain, these were the wizards and witches that would devote themselves completely to Riddle – in body, mind, and soul.

The Malfoys, the Parkinsons, the Notts... they were quite dangerous in their own way, but they still had family ties; something that bound them to reality, that made them acknowledge the consequences of their actions, and therefore, also made them consider carefully just what exactly following Voldemort would entail.

Sympathizers, of course; followers, no doubt, but each of them held, in all probability, some reservations about their dark lord – they had, after all, tasted freedom for fourteen years. And they had witnessed, how a wizard like Lucius Malfoy – powerful in his own right, but still no match for Riddle – had managed to propagate the pureblood agenda without suffering from _Crucios_ and struggling under bouts of sudden rage.

They would care about their heirs; they would care about their families – expect them to follow maybe, but also react in anger when those of their blood were punished. And punished they would be, for there was no Death Eater who could proudly proclaim that he hadn't tasted Voldemort's _Crucio_. The old families that remained free knew it; perhaps that had even been the reason why they never sought out their lord.

But the escaped prisoners had no such reservations. What family ties they had, have been broken and cast aside – forming new ties, most assuredly with Riddle. Already, they were his in all aspects that mattered and such devotedness, such fanatical loyalty could only spell trouble for the Order – for the whole of magical Britain.

"The Dementors have chosen then," Harry slumped down in a chair, resting his chin in his hand. "Not that it's a surprise, mind you. We already knew that they would follow him – beings of darkness tend to keep together."

"You seem to know a lot about the dark," Moody regarded him with a cautious look.

Harry shook his head tiredly. "I read, Mad Eye. I read, I watch, I listen – for Merlin's sake, I've traveled with the headmaster around the world for two months," he sounded agitated toward the end; accusations were the last thing that he needed right now. "Do you think that we collected flowers? That we traipsed with muggles around architectural sights, listening to their historical value?"

"No, I have seen more of the dark than I care to admit... more than I ever wished to see," he muttered. Unbidden, memories of the time in the Egyptian tomb resurfaced and it took all of his willpower to not let the emotions he felt show on his face.

Dumbledore himself looked rather troubled, but remained silent; a fact Harry was thankful for. "This isn't important now. Riddle's most loyal followers are free, the Dementors have joined him and who knows what else he did of which we know nothing."

"What do you propose then, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, receiving incredulous looks from Sirius and Moody.

"We make our own plans and, Merlin willing, we counter his."

* * *

**Grimmauld Place – 5. September 1995**

_Without your OWLs and NEWTs you are nothing, Harry. You have political capital, but it won't amount to anything if others regard you as a slacking fool_, Elize had said, her ruby red lips parted in a patronizing smile.

And worst of all, he couldn't fault her for it, couldn't rage about the injustice of it all – she was right, it was as simple as that and Harry chided himself for not considering the consequences of leaving Hogwarts. Magical adulthood, at least the officially recognized form of it, was bestowed upon those who had either sat their NEWTs at school, or had reached the age of seventeen; aside from some legal matters like emancipation, of course.

_I confess myself to be confused, dear boy. Surely you must have thought about the implications_, Dumbledore had said, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

And again, Harry wanted to rant, wanted to accuse the headmaster of withholding information – and he couldn't, because he knew that it was his fault. He should have thought about it, should have known better. Hadn't that been one of the points of their journey? Hadn't it been to open his eyes, to take off his blinders? For all his supposed maturity, he had shown a remarkable lack of forethought when he simply agreed with the headmaster, not bothering to evaluate all the facts.

_You've got to admit, he got you good, Harry. It was a bit rash to agree instantly, sure, though I can't help but feel that Dumbledore pranked you_, Remus had said, a gentle smile playing on his lips.

And this time, Harry didn't want to accuse anyone of anything; rather he wanted nothing more than to crawl into his room. He knew, of course, that the headmaster had a penchant for mischief – often tinted with humor that seemed otherworldly. It was one of the reasons why many thought him to be a barmy old codger; although nothing was farther from the truth. Moony had graciously offered his help, mentioning that both, James and Lily, had received very good marks in their exams – a motivation that made it all the easier to accept his fate.

_He did what? Ha! That's just too good. Never knew the old man had it in him_, Sirius had shouted gleefully, informing everyone in the room of his plight.

And Harry swore revenge, replying with faked smiles to the few people who offered to help him if he needed a tutor. He was thankful, who wouldn't be if several masters of their craft offered their expertise and knowledge, but the thought that he had been so thoroughly tricked rankled him – more than he'd care to admit. It wouldn't happen this day, neither would it happen in the week afterward, but someday, Harry swore himself, he would get Dumbledore back for it.

He was quite patient when he needed to be, and as it was said, revenge was a dish best served cold.

* * *

"Two stirs clockwise – yes, just like this – now, add the powdered snake fangs. Slowly, Harry, slowly – not too quickly. Never rush a potion, that's important," she said. "Remain calm while brewing and follow the instructions – I promise, nothing will happen then," Emmeline leaned over his shoulder, peering into the cauldron – an orange tinted liquid bubbling noisily within.

"Why add the fangs slowly though?"

She looked at him, her black locks slightly stroking his cheek; a golden necklace fell out of her blouse. "Doesn't really matter for the easier potions, but it's a good habit to have. Some of the more difficult brews can become quite volatile and if you unknowingly made a mistake along the way, adding new ingredients too fast is bad for your health," she said. "Doing it slowly gives you the time to gauge the potion's reaction."

"Makes sense, I guess," Harry remembered what he had to do next and stirred four times counter-clockwise. "I just don't understand potions... you know? And every time I try to find out more about it, I read books that say different things. Hell, one tells me that a longer simmering time increases potency, and the next book completely contradicts it. It's maddening!"

"Language, Harry – and do concentrate on the potion please," she said, rebuking him lightly. "As to the potency issue... well, it varies from potion to potion. That's probably why the books offered different advice. For the well known brews it's common knowledge how long they have to simmer, but lesser known potions require a lot of experimenting."

She reached over and handed him a jar of frog eyes. "There, now add two of those – they'll counteract the acidity of the _Betony_ you used earlier. You know, there are debates in the Potions Guild whether it's an art, or a science."

"I just know what Snape's opinion is," Harry said and carefully lowered the frog eyes into the potion; he lowered his voice until it was as silkily and smooth as Snape's always been. "_I will teach you to put a stopper on glory, brew fame and bottle death –_ or something like this. Yeah, I'm pretty sure that to Snape, potions are a form of art. Well, can't blame him, it's his craft."

"Oh, hush you. Severus is a proud man. Of course he considers his work to be art," her cheeks had reddened slightly. "He's sarcastic, I give you that, but he's also a brilliant potioneer – received his mastery one year out of school, you know? It stirred up things pretty good, when the Guild invited an eighteen year old, let me tell you. I'm glad he's with us. The man can brew potions that are so obscure, only a few know that they even exist."

"Aren't most of them dark though?"

"Some might be, but it's a matter of perception. You shouldn't judge him for delving deeply into his art," she said reprovingly. "In fact, Remus profits from it quite frequently – some of the ingredients for the Wolfsbane potion are pretty borderline... that's the reason why it's so expensive. The ingredients are rather hard to get, thus they cost more than the usual fare."

Well, there was nothing really he could say to that bit of information. How could he say something against Snape knowing dark potions, when one of them helped Moony to conquer his inner wolf on nights of the full moon.

He looked over to Emmeline, admiring her adult curves, her long tresses of black hair... her face hinted toward something aristocratic, and Harry nearly sicked up into his potion. Although he doubted that she meant to be so obvious about it, the undercurrent of their conversation was quite clear to him. And he didn't understand it, couldn't grasp how a gentle soul, a beautiful woman like her, could be enamored with _Snape_ of all people.

"Ah, it's nearly finished. I'll have to get to the hospital now, my shift starts soon. Let it simmer for an hour, bottle it up and then bring it to Lydia – she'll take it from there," she said, loosening her hair out of the ponytail she wore.

Emmeline uttered a quick good bye, and ran out of the door – obviously in a hurry; probably because she daydreamed a bit too much about Snape.

Harry sighed, looking over the lab to see if everything was in order. Then again, maybe it wasn't his mission to understand the workings of her mind. If she managed to snag up the reclusive potioneer of Hogwarts, who was he to interfere? And if Snape mellowed out a bit due to her, all the better.

This revelation made him groan in disappointment though. Emmeline Vance was an attractive woman, extremely so, and now he couldn't even fantasize about her without the threat of thoughts about Snape looming around the next corner in his mind.

Sometimes, life as Harry Potter sucked.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place – 14. October 1995**

They stood in a room bereft of furniture, but littered with conjured rocks of all possible sizes. Behind a shimmering barrier, courtesy of the one and only Moody, several spectators had assembled to observe the upcoming spectacle. It was an idea of Sirius that had got the ball rolling and now, a few times a week, Moody had two members of the Order duel each other in a fight with nearly no rules. Only complete decapitation and the most vile spells of the dark arts were forbidden – and that left plenty of room for interpretation.

Originally, Dumbledore had been rather adverse to allowing it, but after a few heated discussions, even he had to admit that it might be a good idea, and that the experience that would be gained in these duels might be important to the Order.

So now it was Harry's time to duel, to show the Order that his membership was warranted – not that many people questioned it, but there were a few who had concerns, and he would do everything in his power to quell those concerns. It weren't them though that irked him, rather it was the general consensus of the Order; many, if not all, acknowledged his value, but still saw him as a schoolboy that would hardly make a difference in a fight.

And now he had the possibility to show them just how wrong they were. Thundering and thumping, in a cacophony of pure unadulterated violence, the drums of war hammered in his ears, egging him on, louder and more vicious than they had ever done before. He wouldn't cage them, wouldn't allow himself to chain them for this duel; but he also knew that he had to be careful. Complete decapitation left room for argument, true, but he couldn't take things too far. Every member of the Order was needed in the fight against Riddle.

He bounced lightly on his feet – wand tightly grasped in his hand – and gave his opponent a cold and indifferent look. John Abbott, he remembered from what he had read on Dumbledore's map. He was the father of Hannah, a Hufflepuff classmate of his, former classmate that was, and he was rather adept at offensive and defensive magic. From rumors and gossip around the Headquarters, he also knew that the man had wanted to enlist with the Auror corps, but was denied because his knowledge in potions was far worse than Harry's could have ever been – and that was saying something. He certainly was no prodigy in the art.

John seemed to be unnerved by the look, and Harry changed his expression, a feral grin tugging at his lips.

It didn't matter though, it was time to duel.

Harry sprung into action, waving his wand in the direction of a rock and sent it sailing toward Abbott at high speed. Weaving from left to right, avoiding retaliatory spell fire, he used the precious second John took to deal with the boulder to transfigure himself a few nifty helpers.

Two boars, a flock of birds and three gorillas stormed toward the clearly surprised man, who slowly but surely shed his opinion that the _boy-who-lived_ would be easy pickings. The man was no slouch though, and although he didn't make it into the corps because of his potion skills, he still had all the other qualifications needed to be an Auror. With a few flicks of his wand, the animals were gruesomely nailed to the floor and the birds exploded into a shower of red and gore.

Abbott sidestepped the incoming _Reducto _and apparated out of the way, when another boulder was about to trash him. Harry had anticipated it though and did the same, apparating to a spot only a few feet to Abbott's left. He let loose a torrent of cutting and bone shattering curses, drawing a few gasps and sighs of relief, when John managed to hastily erect a purple barrier that stopped them.

He knew it, could even taste and smell it, how the man got annoyed from being pushed around – by a teenager of all things. His anticipation rose; the time to play was over. In a flurry of motion, Abbott threw a torrent of curses, jinxes and hexes at him – some cast silently, others muttered in a soft, nearly inaudible incantation.

And Harry enjoyed it, applying defensive measures he had been taught by the headmaster in the last few weeks. Before the man had mentioned it, he never knew that Arithmancy tied deeply into defensive magic, but after several explanations and examples, Harry believed it. Believed it, and learned his fair share of the science with the help of Mr. Weasley.

The arithmetic makeup of spells was the most important information though, and it was what he learned first, even if other fields of the craft sounded appealing too. If one knew how a spell was made up, knew how it looked broken down into numbers, it was easy to gauge exactly how much power was needed to bat away the curse with one's wand. It had to be exact though, because too much power led to a volatile reaction, resulting in a magical explosion – which wasn't desirable at all, not so close to himself – and too little would do nothing, letting the curse slip through.

He batted away the hexes, parried the curses and used both, his magical senses to identify the incoming spells, and his newly found arithmetical capability to rally against the outpour of magic that Abbott rained down on him. It didn't always work, not when he had no idea what spell just flew his way, but in those instances he simply shielded, or dodged – whichever was preferable at that time.

"_Debiles Fulmen_," Harry cast his favorite lightning spell – the only one he really knew – and overpowered it slightly to cover a larger area of impact.

Bolts of lightning struck near John, eliciting a flinch from him, and maneuvered him into a corner of which he quickly apparated out of. Harry was slightly disappointed with that, but it wasn't unanticipated.

He whirled around, when his sixth sense started to tingle, and ducked not a second too late before a rock crashed into the wall behind him. "_Tegmatus_," he whispered, conjuring the vaunted _Tegmat Aegis_ to cover his sides, hoping that it would serve him better than it did against the Ice wraith.

The barrier took quite the beating, absorbing over fifteen different spells, before it started to waver. What Harry didn't expect, however, was to be thrown through the air by a sudden gust of wind. He reacted quickly, waving his wand to apply cushion charms to the wall, and to battle the foreign magic of Abbott that tried to transfigure part of the wall into _something_. Luckily he won the short battle of wills, because the wall could have become anything ranging from shackles to bind him, to iron spikes that could have impaled him.

Harry bounced off of the wall – it still hurt quite a bit – and rolled away from the incoming curses. He shot his own, hoping to catch the man with a few well placed _Reductos _only to see that his spell went right through Abbott. The man, or rather the image of the man, shimmered and then unraveled.

_Great, now he's using illusionary magic_, he thought in annoyance, but also with excitement.

He hadn't had such a good fight since the fake Moody dueled him, and the few bandits Dumbledore and him had encountered in the desert had barely been able to cast the few spells that they knew. He supposed that it was the difference between people like Lucius Malfoy and other inner circle Death Eaters, and lowly thugs, dabbling in the dark arts.

Lucy and his friends hadn't stopped after learning the Unforgivables, and as a consequence, became that more dangerous because they knew a lot more and were able to fight a lot better. Thugs like the ones he had encountered in Egypt felt superior because they managed the Unforgivables, but – it was truly a folly – in their superiority they learned nothing else, fashioning themselves to be invincible with the power the_ Imperio_, the _Crucio_, and the _Avada Kedavra_ gave them.

John Abbott, he concluded, was an excellent opponent.

He looked around the battlefield, searching for signs that pointed toward the man, but found nothing. But there would never be someone who could accuse the boy-who-lived of being uncreative – Abbott didn't want to play by his rules, that didn't mean he had to be taken by surprise when the man finally decided to show himself.

Harry transfigured a middle sized rock into many small pebbles, and after infusing them with his magic, embedding them with his will, made them swirl around his body like a protective cocoon. He was clearly visible through the pebbles, no part of him really covered, but each curse fired at him would be intercepted by one of the small stones flying around him.

John showed himself and fired a spell at him, believing the stones to be nothing more than petty showmanship. The curse completely pulverized a small pebble, and Harry allowed himself to smirk. A smirk that vanished, when he felt something cut into his leg and he fell down, kneeling on the ground – the stones still hovering around him. He saw his bloody leg, not really comprehending the reason for it until he noticed a wicked looking short sword stuck into the floor.

_Damn it_, he cursed inwardly. Somehow, Abbott had transfigured it unnoticed by him, while testing his improvised defenses.

Well, he wasn't finished, not by a long shot. If Abbott wanted to play a game of transfiguration, he would oblige him – it would be rude not to do so. Harry gathered all his mental fortitude, and with a long drawn out motion, wove his wand through the air, attempting his first use of multiple transfiguration on such a scale.

The pebbles around him morphed themselves into weapons of all kinds – daggers, swords, halberds, axes, arrows, maces – and hurled toward the startled man, who quickly tried to conjure a block of marble to ward them off.

It didn't work like Abbott had expected though and with a startling clarity, the man finally grasped Harry's strategy. Except for the very beginning of the duel, he had always been the one to attack, hurling curse after curse toward the boy – no, not really boy. The young _man _had used magic, sure, but it had been a carefully calculated amount; far less than what he had thrown around – just enough to remain safe.

And now, John was utterly exhausted, his hair damp in perspiration and beads of sweat trailing down his brows. He looked over to Harry, and after seeing the glint in his eyes, knew his assumption to be the truth – the young man had played him like a flute. The marbled block he had tried to conjure was so disfigured that it wouldn't protect him for even a second, and he desperately called up the last remnants of his magic, transfiguring a small rock to his right into a hardened wooden wall that would, hopefully, save his life.

The weapons crashed against the wall, wooden splinters flying into every direction, and he thanked Merlin and Morgana that he was still alive. That was, until he heard the last Potter incant a charm, carefully pronouncing every letter.

"_Accuo_," Harry intoned softly, using the charm he had applied to his knife when he had carved runes into Hogwarts' foundation.

The last remaining weapon, hovering just in front of him, was sharpened beyond belief and after sending it toward Abbott, it stabbed through the weakened wooden wall with ease.

"Ah!" A bloodcurdling scream escaped the man. "I give, I give! Bloody hell, I give up!" He screamed and in that instance, the protection wards around the battlefield were lifted and Vance, Lydia and Hestia ran over to the injured man, instantly casting several medical charms.

He looked at the wounded man, and saw that the sword had struck him right between the ribs. Well, he was sure that the healers could fix him up – he had complete confidence in them.

The drums of war died down and he looked around the room, noticing that some of the spectators who weren't combatants for the Order, wore rather queasy expressions. He saw no fear – that was a good thing – but that much gore might have been a bit much for them. His gaze roamed farther, observing the fighters of the Order, and to his delight he saw that they respected him just a bit more after the duel. John wasn't the best warrior they could field, but he was certainly not the worst either.

At last, his participation in the Order's affairs was accepted, truly accepted.

"Potter, come here," Moody called, standing next to the still injured Abbott who had been dosed with several pain relieving potions. "Time to evaluate your battle."

Harry walked over to the pair, slightly limping because of the wound on his leg. _It was curious_, he thought. He had completely forgotten about it during the heat of the duel. "Let's get on with it then," he said and plopped himself down on the ground, next to John.

"You held yourself against a good fighter, Potter. That's something to be proud of – but you still took too long to evaluate all your options! There were several moments, when a well placed curse would have ended the duel quickly. Don't play with your enemy! Strike hard, strike fast!" Moody said, waving his hand in the general direction of the battlefield that was still crackling with residual magic.

"Same goes for you, John. You underestimated him – never do that, doesn't matter who the enemy is. You'll have to work on your strategic overview... you noticed far too late what Potter tried to do," he continued, before thumping them both on the shoulder and walking over to Shacklebolt, initiating a hushed conversation.

Harry turned to John, offering the man a tentative grin. "Well, that was some fight, huh? Pretty good way to relief stress, I think."

John laughed and Harry let himself fall backward, wincing slightly because of his injured leg. Hopefully the healers were finished soon with Abbott.

* * *

**AN**: Oh, you won't believe how much fun I had, writing up the dueling scene and the dialogue with Diggle. I didn't even have to think of much, this chapter practically wrote itself.

New spells:

_Accuo – sharpening charm_


	21. Chapter 20

**Magicks of the Arcane**

Chapter XX

* * *

**Grimmauld Place – 21. November 1995**

He looked out of the window, observing the falling snow. War, even one fought in the shadows, made people weary of it after a short while. All prideful thoughts vanished, all images of glorious battle were left behind, shattered in pieces, and the notion of death defying maneuvers became ridiculous. It took only a few months until he was truly sick of it, hoping for an end to the madness that – unknowing to the general population of magical Britain – had engulfed them all.

Harry felt the stress mounting with each passing day, and it didn't fill him with confidence that they weren't even in a real state of war with only a few people knowing of Riddle's return.

Soon, oh so very soon, the hammer would fall and when it did... Britain would be left in turmoil, not just the magical part, but the mundane world too. And it made him sick, knowing that the atrocities he had already witnessed in the past few weeks would continue on a much larger scale.

People were blind not to see the subtle clues Riddle had left already, but as he learned, fear was a potent reason for denial. Very potent, and very deadly. And for all their ignorance, all their seemingly inherent stupidity, none of them deserved to die; their behavior might be a crime against logic, but the punishment shouldn't be a sudden death at the hands of a truly unsuspected aggressor.

All the more was it vital to take away their blinders – if possible without alerting the minister of it – and all the more did it sting that the Order's campaign to subtly reveal Riddle's continued existence had failed. Just the mentioning of a resurgence of dark wizards had sent the people running to the ministry, seemingly none of them able to think for themselves, and in the end, all it did was alerting people like Fudge and Lucius of the fact that someone had tried to manipulate the papers.

It resulted in nothing less than a complete takeover of the prophet by Malfoy.

He had sat his OWLs at that time – three of his NEWTs too – so that he could legally use magic as a fully recognized member of society. It hadn't been easy, not too hard either; in fact, he'd been rather disappointed by the apparently exhausting exams. Hermione would probably have had a fit if she knew that he had compromised his education like this, but in the end it didn't matter. For a fee, he could always retake his tests after the war.

Sheltered at Grimmauld Place, and obliviously training, he had only noticed that something went wrong when the mood in the headquarter suddenly turned solemn. Riddle had been active, more active than Harry would have imagined him to be, and although the beast remained hidden behind a veil of secrecy, for those that knew what to look for it was painfully obvious that he was back.

Pureblood agenda was rammed through the Wizengamot in wild abandon, spearheaded by Malfoy, Nott and Parkinson. The werewolves of Britain suddenly fought among themselves, a situation akin to a civil war. Famed Vampire strongholds were raided only to be found empty – the night stalkers had vanished without a trace. An overzealous Dementor kissed a guard of Azkaban; it seemingly was an accident. Dozens of foreign wizards suddenly decided that Britain would make a suitable home.

And when Malfoy had done it, when the bastard had completely bought the prophet – with the minister's approval no less – Sirius had decided that enough was enough. More and more the man had involved himself in the dealings of the Order. And Dumbledore, he had let him. It seemed as if the headmaster was glad that someone from the younger generation had stepped up to take the reigns, leaving him the time to focus on Riddle's soul jars.

Well, that wasn't entirely accurate. Dumbledore truly had handed over the reigns of the Order, but before he did so, the headmaster had made one last, nonnegotiable, demand: _whatever the pair of Mad-Eye and Sirius cooked up, Harry was to be left out of it_.

It had made him angry, oh so very angry, and for minutes he had raged at the headmaster, threw accusations at his head of falling back into old patterns that were better left behind. And he ranted, and he raged, furiously spitting vitriol about controlling old men. He had desperately wanted to fight against Riddle, if only to prove his worth to himself – and being left out of the Order would have seriously hindered him.

And Dumbledore had sat in a chair, silently taking the verbal abuse, a soft smile playing on his lips.

_Harry, what the two of them will do, is completely militarizing the Order. I am not omniscient, but that much is clear. You, however, for all the good you could do under the command of your godfather, have a different destiny. And although I do not want to marginalize the burdens others have to bear... you, and you alone, will play the most important role in Tom's vicious game of violence._

He hadn't understood, had asked for clarification, and the answer he got had sent shivers down his spine. For months he had lulled himself in a protective bubble, thinking about the war in general, but not about his personal place in it. He had blinded himself just as much as the very people he condemned for their ignorance.

_You are chosen by fate, Harry. You might not like it, even detest it, but every choice you make, every time you make a decision, it will impact on all of us. There are no choirs of holy angels and trumpets, when a man's destiny is made known. The truth is silent, but no less important: in the end, you will be the one to fight Tom. _

The words had hit him like a bludger, and despite knowing that they were the truth, he had desperately argued against them.

_Maybe it is the nature of strong willed men, that we do not take kindly to destiny, do not submit to fate. But even if you rebel against it with all your being, Tom will not. He will find you, no matter which place on earth you hide in, and he will attempt to destroy you. I swore to you, at the end of last year, that I would do anything to help you, to give you an edge, and I will uphold my oaths._

How then? How could he learn what he needed to kill the beast, if he wasn't an official part of the very group that had sworn to defeat Riddle? And again, the headmaster had smiled, eyes glinting with pride, but also a small amount of mischief.

_The Order will become strong, I can feel it in the very air. But you – you will become even stronger. Sirius and Alastor will train up an incredible task force, soldiers that will stand united against the dark... Tom, however, is not a simple soldier and thus will not be defeated by one. Let me borrow some muggle terms, Harry. You will need to be something else – a tank, a bastion, maybe a warhead even. _

_I hate adulation for my achievements just as much as you, and I disgust me for saying it, but the adulation is merited in some ways – because despite the Order's strength, I am the only one who can teach you what you need to know. _

_When we traversed Turkey, I told you that other countries weren't concerned about Tom; maybe it was foolish to do so, even if it was the truth. Please, do not think him harmless because of that, or assume that he lacks in power for I can assure you that is folly. Tom is cunning, shrewd and intelligent – he knows that he does not stand a chance against the might of other countries. They do not worry, because he leaves them alone, not because he is lacking as a wizard. Truly, there are very few people who can hope to match him. _

_And for you to beat him – forgive my callous words – you need to rise above the rest._

Dumbledore had given him a few minutes to recover from the impact of his words and then proceeded to lay all the cards on the table. No secrets, no omissions, a direct plan of action instead that detailed the next steps they'd take.

_The minister is, for all his faults, no fool. But he is corrupted and when the old blood that bought him his election started to demand my retirement, he was quick to act, setting plans in motion that would achieve his aims – or rather the aims of Lucius. I am sure that by now you've heard quite the rumors about the newest defense teacher at Hogwarts; a delighting acquisition to the castle's staff, I assure you. Her sole purpose is to undermine me, and although I am certain that neither she nor the minister knows, it is Tom's attempt to weaken my support base without announcing his return too early. _

_I am sure that Madam Umbridge would have succeeded to drive me out of the castle toward the end of the year, but that is also something which can be exploited and shows one of Tom's greatest faults: he thinks too highly of himself and too little of others. What I intend to do, Harry, is to take the bull by its horns. I will drive the dear lady to exclude me from the castle far earlier than Tom would have expected. When that happens, Tom assured by the greatness of his plans, will not stop to think about my motives. He will feel confident, secure in the knowledge that he limited my influence greatly – and he will announce himself to the world, relishing in the terror his name unleashes._

_You know, Harry. Terror, for all the horrors it entails, breeds resistance; against him, and against his ideals. _

And although Harry was quite pleased by the headmaster's plan to exploit one of Riddle's mistakes, he worried. What would happen, if the target Riddle chose to demonstrate his power was the castle itself? Without Dumbledore and with the harsh restrictions of the ministry, they wouldn't stand a chance.

_The castle will not fall. Have no doubt of that, my boy. Indeed, I believe Madam Umbridge will find that Hogwarts can be quite unaccommodating to those who oust a headmaster for nefarious reasons; and politics are, by nature, nearly always nefarious. The wards will be tied to me, and as long as I have not committed crimes against the castle's charter, nothing will change that. _

_What I get after leaving though, is the really important part. It gives me the time to properly train you, to instruct you in the finer points of battle magic and war. The tools you will get from me, the experience from missions for the Order on which I shall accompany you – and after I am satisfied with your progress, also from missions you will undertake with other members._

For a long time afterward, both had sat in silence. It was a question of when, not if, Riddle would reveal himself, but when he did... the headmaster's words from months ago echoed in his mind:_ tickling a sleeping dragon was perilous. _

* * *

**Grimmauld Place – 16. December 1995**

Mad-Eye and Sirius, these two were a seriously frightening combination. And it hadn't taken longer than a few days until the Order had become a completely militarized organization. Members had been divided into divisions according to their talents, missions were issued to teams compromised of members with the needed specialties, and each mission had to be approved by the _council _which essentially consisted of Mad-Eye, Sirius, and Elphias Doge – with Dumbledore as a trusted and highly valued advisor.

Protocols had been created, schedules had been revised, and some of the members that held jobs in inconsequential positions – and didn't have to feed a family – left them behind, dedicating their full live to the Order. More and more the definition of the Order changed; from a group of equal minded persons, they evolved into a military squad.

He walked through the magically enhanced headquarters, and once again Harry marveled at the ingenuity and power Dumbledore had displayed when he had cast his spells on Sirius' ancestral home.

Accomplished wizards were often able to enlarge spaces, but as everything, it had its limits. The headmaster, however, didn't seem to care too much about conventions and with the help of nearly every member and himself as the anchor, he had cast magic that nearly tripled the size of Grimmaul Place. Hours of research, a mixture of charms, arithmancy, runes and ritual magic – and the sheer scale of what the man had done with the already large headquarter... it was enough to render anyone speechless.

There was no doubt in his mind that Dumbledore had earned his title of _The greatest wizard of modern age_ through other means than just defeating Grindelwald.

The corridor seemingly stretched on forever, and many familiar faces greeted him. Teams with their missions, pairs who were scheduled to observe Death Eater hideouts, medical personal – the list went on. And it wasn't the first time that Harry felt himself truly believing Dumbledore's words.

_They_ had a chance. _They_ learned from their mistakes and Riddle won't have it as easy as last time when he terrorized Britain.

When he was in primary school, he didn't have any friends. At Hogwarts he didn't have much contact with other persons either; the sole exception being Ron and Hermione. But here... well, it was a damn shame that it took a war for him to be social, but the camaraderie he suddenly found himself in with the other Order members – he loved it, enjoyed it, and wouldn't miss it for anything.

People like Mad-Eye, the crazy but strict grandfather type, who, despite Harry's age, accepted him as a capable fighter; Edgar, a brother in arms, who, despite his docile nature, could be truly ferocious when the situation required it; Tonks, who had been the first one to truly make the effort of befriending him; and Bill, the man who had started to teach him about life in a sense that neither Dumbledore, nor Sirius, could ever have done.

He didn't fight for his own survival anymore, didn't fight just to spite the madman that had killed his parents, or to uphold the ridiculous beliefs society held in him – no, he had a better reason now. And although many of the people who didn't really know him would say that he had a self-sacrificing personality, it was now that he could truly say: _I'd take a killing curse for any of you_.

Although there were still some who weren't pleased by his membership, or rather the unusual form of his membership. Dumbledore had been true to his words and started to instructs Harry for hours on end – some said it was favoritism, but for the moment, Dumbledore wasn't a headmaster and couldn't be accused of such.

The first few missions with Dumbledore had been interesting. So far he had infiltrated the ministry as a lowly pencil pusher, had learned more about taking down wards when he searched in abandoned death eater hideouts for clues and had raided a small warehouse with a team from the Order – and always, Dumbledore trailed behind, content to observe his apprentice and offering advice the few times it was needed.

_No matter what_, Harry swore himself, _he would be ready_.

* * *

**AN**: Well, that's it. The chapter isn't long, but somehow I like it. I just can't keep myself from writing wise speeches, especially if I'm listening to one of the mass effect soundtracks.

Anyway, enjoy!


	22. Chapter 21

And here's the next chapter, quite early too, as a reward you might say. Thanks to all of you for supporting this story – my, it has been nearly a year now since I uploaded the first chapter... Anyway, with exactly 1k reviews, ~2,3k favorites and ~2,5k followers I think it's time for celebrations! It has been quite the year and believe me, we're far away from the end.

**PS****: **Ah, and before I forget it... Please read my author notes at the end of the chapter. They'll clarify some things for you.

* * *

**Magicks of the Arcane**

Chapter XXI

* * *

**Outskirts Of Dumbledore's Ancestral Home – 21. December 1995**

A sword clipped his arm, blood oozed out of the slash wound – red, thick and distracting. He stepped back, batting two incoming spells away, but was tripped by a small mount of earth that had risen up behind him. Tendrils of magic appeared, though he sensed them before they could entangle him – he apparated away; directly into an artificial hailstorm.

"_Orbis Incendium_," a harsh whisper, a ring of fire; the epicenter – Harry.

Snow melted, his boots made squishy sounds with each move, but the hailstorm was averted. He blinked and readied his wand – his enemy was nowhere to be seen. _That_... was unfortunate. Looking around, he saw nothing besides snow, snow-covered trees, and the silhouette of a house. Harry groaned, knowing what came next.

Chains sprung up around him, shackling him to the muddy ground of his own creation. "Mind your footwork," the wizened man that held him at wand point advised playfully. "Never loose sight of your surroundings. That is essential, my boy."

The chains vanished and Dumbledore offered him his hand. A friendly tug later, and Harry stood – once again – on his own feet.

"Easier said than done," he said. "How am I supposed to find you in a bloody blizzard?"

"You only have but to look. It is as simple as that," the headmaster smiled, unperturbed by the youth's foul language. "And if your eyes fail you, then look elsewhere."

"That's cryptic."

"It is the truth. Eyes can be fooled by many things; cloaks of invisibility, measures of obscuring, charms that befuddle the mind... trust your other senses. Have I not taught you how to sense magic? Use it, and you will never be blind in our world."

Harry grimaced, "I'd rather not remember that place. You know how I feel about it."

"The tomb was horrifying, true," Dumbledore swished his wand and conjured a table, two chairs and a tea set. Soon, a protective bubble and warming charms were applied too, and both sat down – in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by white snow and trees. "But it is better to face your fears than to run away, always looking over your shoulder."

"It's just..."

"I understand, my boy. Believe me, I do," the headmaster sipped his tea. "Teaching the arts of the mind is an intimate process, you know that. You have seen in my very mind what the tomb did to me, yet I am here, talking about it, facing what ails me."

"Arianna," Harry muttered. "You're a stronger man than I, Albus."

Dumbledore's eyes dimmed a bit, sadness clearly visible. "Am I? I would not know. For all I have done, all the accolades the people shower me with, I never felt particularly strong. You know, strength is measured in more ways than just physical prowess or magical power."

The headmaster took of his half-moon spectacles and rubbed his eyes. "No, I never felt strong. Especially not in the last few years. Seeing witches and wizards die, especially those I watched growing up... seeing you in mortal peril, often of my own doing – involuntarily or not. Truthfully, Harry, I feel rather weak these days. And weaker still when I think about the coming years."

"You had no fault in the tomb, Albus. You... no one could've known what we would face in there," his mind spun back to the horrors he had seen in the many chambers. The death of his parents – or at least what looked like his parents – at his own hand. "I was eager to go in, to explore... it is just as much my fault. And you got us out. Don't forget, you got us out of there alive."

Dumbledore hummed, but Harry couldn't tell if it was in agreement or not. "You are a kind person, Harry. Something that has become exceedingly rare in our world. Maybe too kind for what lies ahead of us, but that's neither here nor there."

"What lies ahead of us, huh? Any news from the Order? We've been away for a few days."

"News? Not as such, no. The rumors we try to spread... they do not work, unfortunately. As much as the people love a good story, they would abhor the return of Tom and will not lend their ears to hear of our plight – their plight, really. He is far from discreet, granted, but you have the perspective of someone who did not grew up during the last war. They did. They saw the horrors he unleashed, saw the terror he spread. And for them, the mere thought of his return equals the beginning of an apocalypse. It is sad, but I cannon fault them. Who could?"

"That makes it even worse, that Fudge isn't doing anything," Harry gripped his cup in frustration. "If they want it or not... he _is_ back. Nothing will change that. Nothing _can_ change that. And without more Aurors, more safe houses, the apocalypse _will_ come. Hell, it isn't right that the people just stick their heads in the sand."

Dumbledore looked up from his own musings and arched his brows. "That our dear minister does nothing is deplorable, true. But who are we to order civilians to fight? Those that excel in Defense at Hogwarts usually become Aurors, Hit-wizards or something along these lines. _They_ can fight, and _they_ probably will fight once Tom shows himself. But the common wizard?"

"Each of them can manage a disarming spell, maybe even a _Reducto_. Twenty of those and a shield will fall, no matter it's strength. You know that, Albus."

"You are young, Harry. And often I find myself admiring your perspectives," Dumbledore said. "But you did not see the utter carnage that Tom once unleashed. How many of those that learned the _Reducto_ at Hogwarts would still manage it after decades? With accuracy, mind you. Would you command a man to fight? A man who can't cast more than a simple _Expelliarmus_, and who has a wife, children, maybe even grand-children... Could you order such men to their deaths, knowing that even if they take down a Death Eater by chance, five of them would perish?"

The headmaster shook his head. "No, I do not think that is the answer to our problem. I refuse to believe it. What the civilians need, when all hell breaks loose, are means to escape. Preferably also places to escape to. Senseless death among our population will only embolden Tom and his followers; will strengthen them."

Harry sighed. "So we're back to square one?" he asked. "Great, just great."

"Do not worry, my boy. Tom will reveal himself soon. I can feel it – for all his power, he never was particularly patient. And in the meantime, remember that every cloud has a silver lining."

Dumbledore pulled a ring out of his robes and put it on the table. A bit gaudy, but not too ugly, Harry supposed. It was curious though, that the stone seemed to missing.

"Is that..."

"It is," Dumbledore answered. "The ring of Salazar Slytherin, handed down from one male heir to the next. I found it in the house where Tom's uncle lived."

"So it's a horcrux... I guess you destroyed it already. I can't sense anything from the ring. Why don't you wear it? Would be something like a small victory, I think."

The headmaster smiled, but shook his head. "I do not intend to wear it, especially not after learning what kind of curse Tom had put on the ring. I unraveled the curse, of course, but still... I am sure that Tom would recognize it as soon as we meet on the battlefield. I am not willing to take the chance that he learns about our little hunt."

"Where the defenses hard to beat? I can't believe he would let one of his soul jars just lie around."

"True. Well, there were some. Not terribly creative ones, but plenty of power behind them. The last one though, the one directly on the ring, now that was a nasty piece of magic. I was, indeed, lucky that I recognized it – I have read about it a few decades ago in the archives of the battle mages. A massive and complex layer of compulsion and illusion charms, interwoven with _Perillian's Necromorphis Curse_."

"_Necromorphis_? Doesn't sound too pleasant. What does it do?"

"Decay, pure and simple. If I had put on the ring, first my arm would have started to rot, and afterward, my body would have followed. Once unleashed it cannot be cured, only contained. As you can imagine, the lifespan of someone inflicted with this curse is reduced severely."

Harry had become silent during the explanation, his face set in a pondering expression. "_Perillian_, you say? I think I've read about him... but where? It must have been at Hogwarts – can't remember the book though."

"Oh? That is... peculiar. _Perillian_ was a battle mage. Third class, I believe. Served the guild, or maybe I should call it an Order, for six decades before he suddenly went rouge in 1726. He became only a minor dark lord, quickly hunted down by the other mages, but his invented curse gave him a rather fearsome reputation in the short time he had to use it," Dumbledore mused and looked at Harry, curiosity shining in his eyes. "And you say that you have read about him at Hogwarts?"

"Possibly at Grimmauld Place too, but I think I'd remember something this recent."

"True," the headmaster acquiesced. "Nevertheless, it is remarkable. Another sign that the library of Hogwarts is truly one of a kind – to be honest with you, my boy, I am sure that after all my years at the castle, I still have not uncovered each of its mysteries."

"Guess Riddle learned of it at Hogwarts then..."

"A possibility, indeed. But although Tom had high interest in the darker arts, even as a student, he does not strike me as the type to fascinate over history," Dumbledore answered pensive; seemingly miles away in a past that only he knew of. "However, we should not forget that _Perillian_ had a few weeks outside of the jurisdiction of the mages. It is entirely possible that he left some of his studies behind; in a place that, centuries later, might have been found by Tom during his travels."

"He couldn't have gotten it from the mages?"

"That, my boy, is very doubtful. Possible, perhaps, but improbable. No, the guild headquarters are hidden in the mountains of Switzerland and heavily fortified. A lone mage might not be able to hinder Tom in his quest, but the threat of a dozen ones is very real and very deadly," Dumbledore smiled. "If I remember correctly, there are always three class five mages at hand in case the headquarters ever come under siege. One of them is definitely not as strong as _him_, but three? There is next to nothing that could not be accomplished with such an accumulation of magical force."

"Speaking from experience, huh? You said you had been one. What class did _you_ have?"

"Me? I was only a lowly class two mage. There are... strict rules in place to keep order. You once told me that your blood boils in combat, that your senses sharpen, and that thundering noise in your head demands for battle... Now, imagine, dozens of mages with the same trait in one building," the headmaster explained, and indeed, Harry's expression became rather comical. "Not to mention that the class has nothing to do with your magical power. The code of the mages is very clear concerning that point: _Age does not dictate wisdom, but experience does. And to gain experience, one has to age_."

"So what? You want to tell me that you, with your nearly hundred and fifty years aren't experienced enough to be a class five mage?"

The headmaster laughed. "Old I may be, but that in itself has no bearing on the guild. After thorough evaluation and two decades of service, each apprentice has the chance to ascend to the rank of a class one mage – I am sure you can already see where I am going with this, Harry – and after another two decades and another thorough evaluation, class two is reachable."

"Four decades? You spent forty-eight years with them and only were a class two mage? That's ridiculous!"

"Nearly five decades, but you can see my problem. Despite my age, I am a rather eccentric person – I freely admit to that – and the strict code of conduct did not sit well with me," the headmaster leaned back in his chair, folding his hands on his lap. "After over fifty years, I believed my duty to the guild to be done and decided it was time to move on to other adventures... and so I did."

"You know, I can fully understand that, Albus," Harry grinned. "But really, over fifty years? How do they keep order? Imagine a guy like Riddle in the guild... extremely powerful but purposely held back until he served two decades? Can't believe that it's easy for the leaders to keep the others from rebelling. They must have what, served about a hundred and twenty years to become class five mages?"

"Their power lies not in the youth of flesh, but in knowledge, Harry. The archives of the guild hold secrets about many things – magic not intended to ever reach the eyes of the common man; information about politicians that could destroy countries; rituals that tear the land asunder, obliterating the very fabric of our essence," the headmaster shook his head. "No, the lower classed mages know well that to dance with one of the higher classes is folly. Maybe, if they were truly powerful, they could win, but the outcome would be catastrophic."

"So they rule with fear," Harry muttered in disdain. "Nothing new there. Seems to be about the same everywhere..."

"Fear, Harry, is one of the most easily exploited emotions. And although it does not make it any easier to stomach, take heart in the fact that the higher classes, too, are bound by the code of the mages. They only use their power to keep order, never to lord it over the others."

"Still, I don't like it. Who controls them? Who is the keeper of the keepers? You say they have the power to destroy the world as we know it, but who checks up on _them_? If one of these guys go rogue, we'd be doomed!"

"And that, is exactly the point many governments around the world make now and have made in the past," Dumbledore said. "In the end, the guild will not let itself be abolished, so they can't do much about it. The high council, eleven class five mages, governs itself. They are – if you will excuse my lack of better terms – a bunch of suspicious and crafty old geezers, even by my standards. After ten decades of service they are so, let me call it indoctrinated, that they take the code as the words of a deity."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that should even one of the councilors decide to abolish the code they have lived by for well over a hundred years, the other ten would come down upon him, or her, like the plague. Harry, if there is one advice I can give you it is this: _Do not_ trifle with the guild. It would be the end of you. In your third year I told the school that Dementors are not known to be merciful; expect even less from the battle mages."

For a few seconds, Harry was rather subdued, but soon enough a mischievous glint entered his eyes. "And the archives hold that many secrets? Imagine the fun we could have, breaking into their impenetrable headquarters!"

"As long as it remains theoretically only, you can plan as many heists as you want. But be careful. Should even a whisper of an attempt reach their ears, they would come after you with vengeance," then Dumbledore seemed to remember something and his own eyes lit up in amusement. "Not that it would do you much good, my boy."

"Why not? I'd think that getting into their fortress and raiding their library would do me a great deal of good..."

"Why, indeed. If you were able to, that is. Do you think they have forgotten to protect the archives? They are permeated with restricting magic. After every ascension to another class, a bit more of knowledge becomes available until, when you become a class five mage, you can read everything. I believe that you, as an outsider, would barely be able to read a book about the mysterious art of cooking."

"Now that's a bummer if there ever was one," Harry lamented. "You could have told me that a lot earlier!"

Dumbledore took another sip from his cup and grimaced in distaste – the tea had become cold. "I assumed it to be common sense, my boy. Now, let us not dawdle any longer. I believe it is time for you to learn another chant," he said. "Powerful, oh yes, but also much more difficult to learn and to control than the others so far."

They walked out of the woods and into a clearing, transfiguring quite a few things into slabs of stone. The headmaster arranged them in a field, and gave all of the slabs a black cloak and a white mask.

"Stand back now, Harry. And remember the most important rule about chants," Dumbledore said.

"Never use them if I don't have the time. Ancient magic such as this takes a while to conjure, so I have to either distract my target first, or use them when my enemy is unaware of my presence," he recited successfully, having heard the instructions many times over the last month.

"Correct, but you should recite with a bit more enthusiasm. Keep your eyes open now, my boy. This will be unlike anything you have seen so far," Dumbledore himself took a step back and readied his wand.

Harry opened his senses to the magic and the hairs on his neck rose. That was when he heard Dumbledore's voice, "_Zeus, master of storm, harbinger of thunder and lightning, herald of new eras. Forgive my insolence and hear my plea – Tornitrua Et Fulgura!_"

When Harry had called up earthly vines in his first task, it took a moment until they had fought their way through the ground and shackled the dragon. When he had conjured the son of Jormungand, the Midgard Serpent, in the middle of the Black Lake, it had taken a few seconds until the ethereal being was formed. And when Dumbledore had called upon the burning judgment of fire's father to smash the Ice Wraith into pieces, nearly a minute went by until the meteor had come crashing down in ferocious vengeance.

This time though, the effect was instantaneous – thunder echoed throughout the rumbling sky, a heavy wind picked up. And then he was blinded, as dozens of the slabs were hit by lightning; the brightness was all encompassing.

Harry opened his eyes and when the white stars in his vision receded, he uttered a strangled gasp.

_Heavenly Morgana, give me strength_, he thought and wandered over to his mentor who looked rather dazzled himself – a small bolt of lightning frizzled out in his beard. The slabs of stone had been completely eradicated, some of them leaving not even ashes behind, and the charred ground was filled with smoking trails and the scent of ozone.

"And that, my boy, is why you have to train this kind of chant. Rather like _Fiendfyre_, you should never let it get out of control, lest you will be struck as well," the headmaster chortled, even though his countenance dimmed a bit when he spoke about the deadly fire. "It is impressive, is it not? Now, try it. Let magic guide you on your way."

Harry nodded, although his memories of the second Tri-wizard task made him rather ill.

_Never let it get out of control?_

He hadn't even had an inch of control over the sea serpent. He banished these thoughts for now and brought up the incantation in his mind. "_Zeus, master of storm, harbinger of thunder and lightning, herald of new eras. Forgive my insolence and hear my plea – Tornitrua Et Fulgura!_"

The effect wasn't what he had aimed for. Not at all. No thundering clouds, no noise, just a teensy bit of lightning that struck the earth, loosing a bit of its already low strength, and then arched over to him, hitting him in the leg.

He uttered a gargled cry and fell into the snow, unable to control his legs anymore.

_Oh boy_, he would be at this for a long while.

* * *

**Wizengamot Ballroom – 24. December 1995**

He walked through the richly decorated doors, seconds ago having been announced as Harry James Potter, Heir of House Potter, and taking in the gaudiness of it all, barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. As tradition dictated, the Ministry's Yuletide ball was held in a large and spacious manor, belonging to the most revered institute in Britain – the Wizengamot.

And, as tradition also dictated, he as the heir of a prominent and old family – although with little money left to spare – had gotten an invitation. The headmaster had admitted that Harry had gotten these kind of invitations since his first foray into the magical world.

_I did not feel it prudent for you to bear that responsibility within the first days of your arrival, when everything was still new to you. Although I admit that I did not fulfill my duties correctly with not informing you at all_.

Well, sometimes it was easy to see that just a few years ago, the man himself had been what he accused the council of mages to be – a cunning, suspicious, and most of all, crafty old geezer. Maybe he still was one to some degree, old dogs learning new tricks and all that, but at least he came clean regarding his dealings with Harry.

There was no point in whining over spilled milk, after all.

He let his gaze wander over the assembled witches and wizards, recognizing quite a few from the gathered Death Eater profiles of the Order. It wasn't that unexpected though. He had known that people like Malfoy and Parkinson would attend the ball; it _was_ an enormous boost to a family's reputation to get invited. And old families like them were invited quite regularly.

This knowledge didn't make it any easier for him though. He was, quite literally, walking into the lair of the beast. He suppressed his nervousness, but nonetheless righted his robes, confirming that the golden pin which served as a portkey was still there.

Hopefully this ball would end better than the last one he had attended. That blighted Hernandez and his guards had done quite a number on him.

Then he spied someone he had not expected to see.

_Marianne_, he thought incredulously. _That means her father isn't far away_.

And there he was, Lord Hernandez, talking lightly with a charming woman Harry was also familiar with.

_Malfoy, Parkinson, Nott, Hernandez, Marianne, Zabini... this is going to be brutal_.

* * *

**AN:** Well, that's it for today. Or not. I have one last announcement to make regarding the last few chapters: I haven't found the time to edit it yet, but it seems that quite a few people didn't get the 'prank'. So, until I manage to change it, here's some clarification.

The prank had nothing to do with Harry still going to Hogwarts despite Dumbledore's words, whatsoever. He won't go and that's final, although I guess that I wasn't very precise in my writing, so it's my fault as an author that you didn't get what I meant. The prank, if you could really call it that, was that Dumbledore didn't tell Harry beforehand that he still had to sit his OWLs and NEWTs. Something that is quite clear to most of us, but Harry, as much as he tries to be mature, still has occasional bouts of childish thinking – as is right.

In his belief that he didn't need to take the exams if he left Hogwarts, he readily agreed and Dumbledore was quite amused when he finally told Harry that he still had to take them, a lot earlier than his former peers too. That was supposed to be the prank, nothing malicious and cruel, or anything of the sort. Although cruel is debatable in this matter, at least from the perspective of a student.

I'll tell you the thoughts behind it too. Normally I let you think about my chapters on your own and I'm assured that you're quite capable of deducing what I want to tell you most of the time when I write something. But after going over it, I decided that it might be a bit too convoluted, at least if you're not residing in my head – which I hope you don't!

Simply: after the fourth year, and even more so after their travels, Harry has become increasingly reliant on our dear headmaster. It wasn't the bad thing to do during their journey, as Dumbledore was clearly the expert there... but blind reliance is quite dangerous. The 'prank' was supposed to open Harry's eyes to one simple fact – even if the headmaster didn't intend any harm, a normal dose of suspicion is still healthy. Thinking for yourself is essential and it was my aim to show that to Harry, by the means of Dumbledore if you will.

New spells:

_Orbis Incendium – _A ring of fire that spreads out from its point of origin (dependent on the power input, it can become a wall instead of a ring.)

_The Necromorphis Curse – _A curse invented by Perillian, a class three battle mage. Once hit by it, the body starts to decay

_Zeus, master of storm, harbinger of thunder and lightning, herald of new eras. Forgive my insolence and hear my plea; Tornitrua Et Fulgura – _A chant that conjures a storm with all this entails (clouds, rain, wind, lightning)


End file.
